Another Weasley Christmas
by MandyinKC
Summary: A collection of Christmas stories centered around the Next Generation of Weasleys.
1. Chapter 1: Roxy: First Christmas

_Author's Note:_ This is the first of thirteen new stories just in time for Christmas. I suppose you could call this collection a sequel to _A Very Weasley Christmas_ that I published two years ago, although you don't have to read that one to enjoy these stories. This time around, the Next Generation steps into the spotlight, marking the first time I've written for most of these characters which was a challenge. These are self-edited and I apologize in advance if they are a bit rough. I hope you enjoy.

 _Disclaimer:_ The characters and world belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Roxy: First Christmas

 _December 24, 2002_

"That's the last of it, Mr. Weasley."

George looked up from the till to stare at the apple-cheeked clerk he'd hired for the holiday season. In six weeks of employment, George had yet to convince the kid to call him anything but "Mr. Weasley", which George found distasteful on several levels. First, "Mr. Weasley" was his dad, or maybe even a wanker like Percy, but George was most certainly not a "Mr. Weasley". Second, the whole good breeding thing just didn't work in a joke shop. The kid simply did not show the proper disregard for authority as befitting the job.

"Thanks, kid," George said, synching up a fat sack of coins to be placed into the safe. "See you after Boxing Day, bright and early. My two least favorite words."

"Yes, sir."

The kid disappeared out of the door, and Verity locked it after him.

"Successful day," she commented, putting out the lights. "I mean, I haven't sat down in eight hours, and I had to Petrify two old bats fighting over the last box of Canary Creams, but successful."

George chuckled. "Yeah, so much for good will to men, right?"

"It's kind of sad, isn't it?" Verity leaned on the counter. "This season is meant to bring out the best in us, but sometimes it's hard to see when you're working in a shop."

George shrugged. "Puts blunt in the bank. Speaking of which, here you go."

He pulled a smaller sack out of his pocket and dropped it in front of Verity. At the start of the month, George had handed out Christmas bonuses to all of his regular employees, but Verity was more than a regular employee. She'd started with the shop exactly one week before it officially opened its doors. She'd stayed with them through the good times and the bad, and the bad was really, really bloody bad. Certainly Verity could have left George hanging a thousand times over. To her credit, she had walked out on him, but she always came back. George had to appreciate that kind of loyalty because he didn't deserve it.

"What's this?" Verity asked.

"Call it your retirement fund," George replied.

Verity smiled. "Cheers."

"Happy Christmas, Verity. And thanks, for everything."

"It's been an adventure." She pocketed the coin purse, and slipped out the back, calling, "I'll lock up!"

George took the moneybag into his office, placing it in the safe. The day had started before sun up to ready for the madness to come. Last minute shoppers, school kids home for the holidays, maniacs who'd pissed off their girlfriends before Christmas. Diagon Alley turned into a regular loony bin every December 24. George and Verity had spent two hours prepping the shop for the crush when they opened the door at eight in the morning, and they didn't close again until eight that night. And here it was ten o'clock on Christmas Eve. George hadn't seen the sun or sky, he'd barely had time to eat, and he'd only caught a glimpse of his wife and daughter in their beds before he left the flat that morning.

Funny how Fred and George had thought being their own bosses would make them kings of the world. As usual, Fred had been wrong. It was all hard work and grueling hours. So, sure, George also took home a nice paycheck to keep Angelina in posh shoes and Roxy…Well, Roxy didn't seem to need much besides clean nappies and Angelina's tits.

Before leaving the office, George took a moment to stare at the framed photo that hung by the door. It was taken the day Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opened. He and Fred were dressed in matching purple robes with orange ties, they had their thumbs in their lapels and smug smirks. Merlin, they really did think they were kings of the world, didn't they? Too bad that world was rapidly crumbling.

 _Oi, happy Christmas, you sentimental bastard._

George closed his eyes against the voice in his head.

"Happy Christmas to you, too, wanker." He tapped a finger against photo Fred, who dodged out of the way, then George made his way upstairs to the flat he used to share with Fred, but was now all fancy and baby-proofed. Gone were the days of second hand sofas and rubbish on the floors. The hardwoods gleamed, the furniture didn't have questionable smells, and a pink and brown nursery had taken over Fred's old room.

If he were lucky, Angelina would still be awake. Besides having a daughter who was almost five months old, Angelina was also three months pregnant. Needless to say, the sprogs took a lot out of her. George actually felt pretty guilty about that. Not to say he wasn't happy to have another little snot monster, but he went and knocked up Angie _again_ before they were even technically supposed to be having sex. Guess there was something to this whole Weasley fertility thing.

Once inside the flat, George found both of his girls asleep on the sofa. Roxy was splayed across Angelina's impressive chest, and Angie's arms were wrapped protectively around their daughter. This wasn't the first time George had found them like that. Angie kept the baby up so that George could spend time with her after work, but in the Christmas season, work hours often lasted long beyond either one's endurance.

George leaned on the back of the sofa, and watched his girls sleep in the twinkling light of the Christmas tree. In all his life, George had never realized that he actually valued peace until he'd seen his sleeping child in his wife's arms. Gently, George stroked the baby's brown cheek. She looked like Angie, but with creamy café au lait skin, and freckles across the bridge of her nose. And, to Angie's utter disbelief, Roxy had inherited the Weasley red hair. Or well, maybe it wasn't exactly Weasley red, but there was a definite red tinge to her dark curls.

While he watched, Roxy's big, brown eyes blinked open. At the sight of her daddy, she gave a sleepy, gummy smile.

"Happy Christmas, sproglet," George whispered, tickling her chin.

Roxy's head popped up, so George carefully extracted her from Angelina's arms. "Did you have a nice day?" He carried her over to the tree, watching as Roxy reached out for the shiny bulbs. Maybe she'd be a Seeker. "Well, since you asked, my day was completely mental. Barely sat down. I ate half a tub of clay before I realized it wasn't my lunch."

George looked at Roxy, who was staring back. Could a baby look at a person like she thought he was mental? Well, George always knew that Roxy was especially talented, including in the art of dirty looks. Just like her mother.

"Now tomorrow is going to be your first Christmas. You won't remember it, and it's just as well. I've seen the frock you're mum bought you and it has a lot of flounces. If you know what's good for you, you'll go ahead and puke on it first thing."

Roxy was still staring at him intently, so George decided to carry on.

"And we have to go see your Granny, you know, your mum's mum." George sighed. "I know, it never ends well. They always fight, and Mummy cries a lot lately because of all the baby hormones, but it's family so what are you going to do? But your aunties will think you are bloody fantastic." He tickled Roxy's belly and she giggled. "Because you are, especially when you do that."

"George?"

He turned around to see Angelina sitting up on the couch. "Did we wake you?"

"I knew Roxy was gone." Angelina stretched her arms above her head, arching her back.

"Bloody hell, Angelina, your tits are amazing."

Angie gave him a dirty look. "And full of milk. When did you get in?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

George sat on the sofa next to Angelina, and Roxy immediately reached for her mummy.

"I wish you didn't have to work such long hours on Christmas Eve. We missed you." Angelina made a silly face at the baby. "Didn't we?"

"Life of a shopkeeper, I'm afraid. And look, if you were still with the Harpies, you'd be playing tomorrow."

"I reckon." Angelina rested her head on George's shoulder as he stretched an arm along the back of the sofa. "This Christmas Eve is certainly different from last year, isn't it?"

"You kicked me last year."

"You were messing me about."

"I know one thing that this Christmas Eve can have in common with last one," George said, waggling his eyebrows, then diving into Angelina's neck to give it a small nip.

Angelina laughed. "George! You have an audience."

"So I do." He looked at Roxy. "Back to sleep, little one, so I can shag your mum senseless."

Angie snuggled into his side, the baby between them. Both babies really. For this one Christmas, George's whole world fit within the circle of his arms. He forgot about the shoppers, and their lack of Christmas spirit, because this really was the most wonderful time of the year. He kissed the top of Angelina's head.

* * *

 _A/N2: Look for the second chapter tomorrow. Until then, please leave me a review!_


	2. Chapter 2: Victoire: Trapped Under the M

Victoire: Trapped Under the Mistletoe

 _December 20, 2003_

Victoire stood on tiptoe to peer over the side of the bassinet at the new baby. That morning, Papa had come to get her and her little sister, Dominique, from the Burrow, and he'd explained that they had a new baby brother. Dominique wanted to send him back, she said boys were smelly. Victoire rather thought she agreed. She only knew three other boys, they were all her cousins, and they all smelled bad most of the time.

"He doesn't do much."

Victoire turned large, blue eyes up to the green haired boy who was standing next to her. Teddy was one of the boys she knew. The others were Uncle Charlie's godson, Pax, who was the same age as Teddy, and baby Freddie. Of all of them, Victoire thought maybe she liked Freddie the best, except last week he pulled her hair and she didn't like that at all. Also, his nappies were stinky. At least Freddie wasn't mean to her, like Teddy and Pax, who never let her play with them. And when they did, they always made her be the bad guy, or worse. Sometimes they made her be the princess who gets kidnapped by the dragon. Victoire thought Teddy should be the princess for once.

"He's a baby," Victoire said. Teddy was right, in the few hours since Victoire had met her new brother, she'd only witnessed him sleeping or nursing, but he was _her_ brother and Teddy had no right to talk bad about him.

"So's Freddie," Teddy observed. "And at least he laughs when I change my nose."

For good measure, Teddy turned his nose into a pig snout and snorted. This was his new trick. All the grown ups laughed when he did it, and so did Dominique and all of their cousins. Victoire thought that pigs were quite rude, and so was Teddy. She stuck her own nose in the air, tossing her blonde hair back.

"Maybe the new baby thinks it's not funny anymore because he knows you've done it one million times!"

"How could he know that? He just got here?"

And maybe it would be funny if Teddy didn't do it every time Victoire walked by which always made Dominique and little Molly and Roxy laugh. It made Victoire feel like everybody was staring at her, and she didn't like that. Sometimes it wasn't so bad when she was playing on the piano and Papa and _Maman_ and Gran and Grandpa and Mrs. Tonks would clap, but at least Victoire didn't have to see their faces while she played. When she was finished, it was hard to turn around and look at all the grown ups watching her.

"Stay away from my baby brother, Teddy Lupin. He doesn't like you and he doesn't think your funny!" Victoire yelled. She placed her hands on her hips, wedging herself between the bassinet and the other boy.

"What's going on here?"

Gran marched over, hands on her hips. At first, Victoire was too busy protecting her new brother to notice that Gran was angry with her. She didn't like people to be mad at her, but she didn't like meanness either. As far as she was concerned, Teddy was just a mean old toadstool. He played with her when Pax wasn't around, but as soon as the other boy visited from the dragons, Teddy forgot all about Victoire. Just last night, they were all at the Burrow waiting for the stupid baby to be born, and Teddy wouldn't even look at her. He wouldn't play house with her or sit next to her at supper. In fact, Teddy acted like Victoire was invisible all night!

"I won't have this squabbling in front of the baby," Gran said, waggling a finger at Teddy and Victoire.

Victoire looked at Gran's red face. Cold prickles of shame flooded the little girl's body, forcing tears into her eyes. Shooting a furious look at Teddy, Victoire ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. Except it wasn't her room any more. The baby was moving into the nursery, so Dominique had to move in with Victoire. Where her dollhouse had been, now sat Dominique's new big girl bed.

Throwing herself onto her pretty pink bed, Victoire buried her head in her arms, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She hated being in trouble, she hated being singled out, she hated being ignored by stupid green haired boys, and she hated that Dominique's bed already looked messy.

There was a knock on the door, and when it opened, it wasn't _Maman_ or Papa standing there, it was Uncle Percy. He was tall like Victoire's Papa, but for some reason, it seemed like Uncle Percy was made up entirely of elbows and knees with a pair of glasses stuck on top. But that was okay, because Uncle Percy was nice, and not at all loud like Uncles Ron and George.

"May I sit down?" Percy asked.

Victoire nodded.

Uncle Percy sat at her little table, the knees overtaking the elbows. "Handkerchief?"

" _Merci_." She took the offered hanky and wiped her eyes.

"Serve me tea, please?"

Victoire giggled, but she slid off her bed and sat in the other chair. "With sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

For her last birthday in May, Mrs. Tonks had given Victoire a real porcelain tea set decorated with pink roses and purple lilacs. _Maman_ had protested that it was too dear to give a little girl, but Mrs. Tonks had tutted. She said it was protected by magic and would serve hundreds of tea parties before it ever broke. Victoire liked Mrs. Tonks, even though Teddy was her grandson and he smelled.

"Cheers," Uncle Percy said, accepting the tiny teacup and saucer. He held it to his lips, making Victoire giggle.

"It's just pretend, Uncle Percy!"

"Well, it's the best pretend tea I've ever had."

"Auntie Audrey will give you real tea."

He smiled fondly. "Sadly, the tea your auntie serves is generally pretend as well. That's how I'm such an expert in it, and yours is by far superior."

"What's that mean?"

"Better than all the rest." Percy looked at her for a moment, then set the saucer down. "Are you feeling left out?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." Uncle Percy nodded as if he knew all about it. "It must be hard to be in your position. Your baby sister is the same age as little Molly and Roxy, and they are inseparable when they're at the Burrow. Teddy plays with you, but then Pax comes and…"

"He forgets all about me," Victoire said, pouting.

"He does."

"He's mean! I hate him!"

"I know it feels that way, but you don't hate Teddy. He's not even mean, he doesn't do it on purpose you know?"

Victoire crossed her arms over her chest. "He does, too."

"Oh, Vic, I know it seems that way and nothing I say will convince you otherwise. And I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? It hurts whether it's a conscience choice or not."

Blinking, Victoire stared at her uncle. She didn't always understand what he said.

"Freddie and the new baby will be the same age," Victoire said. "And they're both boys."

Uncle Percy nodded. "That's true."

"So they'll have each other. Everybody has someone special but me."

"You are somebody special. You have gifts and thoughts that are wholly unique to you, and someday, you'll find somebody who likes everything that is special about you and want to share it with you. Maybe that person isn't family, maybe it's not even one person but many." He looked at her for moment. "I know that doesn't help now."

Victoire got up, and went to sit in her uncle's lap. "I love Teddy," she whispered. "He's my someone special."

"Maybe someday he will see how lucky he is," Uncle Percy said back, a small smile on his face. "But for now, would you like to come downstairs? I think your gran is about to serve real tea."

" _D'accord."_

Taking her favorite doll with her, Victoire went back with Uncle Percy. The house was very loud, even though they had a new baby. The whole lot was there, and it felt like all of them were staring at her as she walked down the steps, but Victoire kept her eyes on the now blue haired boy at the bottom, and tried not to think about the rest.

"Oi, Vic!" Teddy shouted. "My gran says I'm beastly and I should 'pologize, but I said it was all your fault."

"Teddy!" Mrs. Tonks snapped from the sitting room.

"That's okay," Victoire said, sticking her nose in the air. "You are beastly."

"Look at you two!" Uncle George came out of the kitchen. "Just the ones I was looking for. I've got a new product for next Christmas, and you two would be the perfect test subjects."

"George," Uncle Percy said warningly.

Victoire looked from one uncle to the next. "Papa says to never eat anything you offer."

"Uncle Harry, too," Teddy added.

"Excellent policy," Uncle Percy muttered.

"Good thing it's not edible," Uncle George said.

"Edi-what?" Teddy asked, blue brows furrowed.

"Eatable. Now then!"

Uncle George pulled a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket, holding it over Victoire and Teddy's heads. Instantly, Victoire knew what the plant was and what it was used for. Mistletoe was all over _Grand-pare_ and _Grand-mere's_ house at Christmastime. Sometimes, Victoire would catch Papa kissing _Maman_ under a sprig and it looked very romantic.

"What are you up to, George?" Uncle Percy demanded.

"Shut it, killjoy, and lets see if this works."

Long tendrils slithered out of the plant. Victoire's eyes went wide, she'd never seen mistletoe do that before. The long green vine snaked around her ribcage and suddenly she was pulled against Teddy. His eyes were as big as Victoire's, staring at her.

"Let go!" Teddy yelled.

"Stop!" Victoire screamed, dropping her doll.

"All you have to do is give Vic a little kiss, and poof! The mistletoe will let go," Uncle George said.

Both children began struggling. Tears pressed against Victoire's eyes. She didn't know if she was scared or mad, but at that moment she wished she could stomp on Uncle George's foot without getting into trouble.

"What is this?"

That thundering voice was her Papa. Victoire looked up at him where he loomed in the doorway of the sitting room. His face was red and his eyes glittered like diamonds. Right behind him was Auntie Ginny, her eyes were blazing, too. Victoire quieted down. All the grown ups looked really angry, angrier than she had ever seen them. She leaned into Teddy a bit, she didn't want any of them to look at her.

"It's just a little plant," Uncle George said.

"That's strangling my daughter," Papa snapped.

"Eep!"

"Bill, you're scaring her," Uncle Percy warned.

"Anyway, it's not hurting her," Uncle George said. "After Teddy kisses her, it will let go."

"George!" That was Aunt Ginny's mean voice. "Make it stop."

Uncle George shrugged. "Can't."

"I'll just use a Severing charm," Papa said.

"That won't work," Uncle Percy said. "Look how closely they're wound together. You can't sever the vine without cutting the children."

Papa growled, and Victoire began crying harder.

"Don't cry, Vic," Teddy said close to her ear. "I'll fix it."

And then Teddy placed his lips against her cheek, and kissed it.

The entire foyer went quiet as the vines loosened, then retracted into the mistletoe. Victoire pressed her hand to her cheek, right where Teddy had kissed her. It felt warm and tingly. His face was bright red, but Victoire didn't care.

"You saved me," she whispered.

"Ah, you didn't need to be saved, just kissed," Uncle George said.

"George Weasley!"

The mistletoe was snatched out of the air by Aunt Angelina. Baby Freddie was on her hip, but she looked quite frightening with her teeth bared, her chest heaving. She simply pointed at the front door, and Uncle George turned on his heel and walked out.

"Angelina." Uncle Percy cleared his throat. "If you are planning to murder George before Christmas, you may wish to leave his son inside."

"Right you are," Aunt Angelina huffed and passed the baby over to Uncle Percy.

"Come along, you two," Gran said, appearing out of nowhere. "A cup of tea will fix you right up."

Teddy looked at Victoire, then shrugged and followed Gran into the kitchen.

"Wait for me!" Victoire called.

"Hurry up then," Teddy said, and grabbed her hand.


	3. Chapter 3:Louis: A Time to Reflect

Louis: A Time to Reflect

 _Christmas Eve 2003_

"No," Bill said (for the ninety-third time that day). He scooped up his youngest daughter before she could get her little hands around the shiny, red bulb that hung tantalizingly within reach. "No touch."

Dom smiled widely, her blue eyes twinkling. She was only twenty-one months old, was it too soon to assume that she was plotting her way back to the Christmas tree? For good measure, Bill cast a shield charm around it.

"Here, terrorize your sister for a bit." Bill placed Dom on the piano bench next to Vic, who was picking out _Jingle Bells_ on the keyboard.

"Bill dear, do you have everything under control?"

From the kitchen, Bill's mum appeared with tea towel in hand. Right on cue, Dom began banging on the piano and Vic howled with indignation. She hit her little sister who started crying.

"Papa! She ruined it!" Vic accused.

"Victoire, Dominique," Mum scolded, picking up the smaller one and closing the cover over the keyboard. "Hush, or you'll wake your mummy and baby brother."

Both girls quieted.

"Now, Bill," Mum said, her lips folded. "I am due at your sister's. She's been quite ill, and I told her I would bring some chicken noodle soup around. Do you think you can manage without me?"

"This is not the first time I've watched over small children," Bill replied.

"Hmph. I'm just sure that Fleur would not allow Dominique to run around looking like this."

They both looked at the little girl. That morning, Bill had brushed her ginger hair and put it in tiny pigtails, then she'd dressed herself. She was wearing green and yellow striped leggings, a purple t-shirt with a bear on it that happened to be her favorite, over a pink and red polka dot dress, and her sky blue Wellies.

"She has her own style," Bill said with a shrug.

Mum passed the toddler over. "I'll be back tomorrow. See that you get the girls in those nice frocks that Fleur bought for Christmas."

"Will do." Bill saluted for good measure, but that only earned him a scowl.

With Dom still in his arms, Bill saw his mum out the door. She yelled something about a casserole as she trudged up the sand, but Bill was going to ignore that. If he presented a casserole to his wife, she would hex him and it did not matter that she'd just given birth.

"Well, ladies," Bill said, closing the door. "It looks like it's just the three of us for supper. Who wants toasted cheese?"

Vic clapped her hands. "And veggie soup?"

"Sounds like a plan. First soup, then baths—"

"Noooo!" both of the girls chorused.

"But you want to smell good for Father Christmas, right?"

"Papa," Vic said, hand on her hip and looking exactly like her mother. "Father Christmas does not care if we smell good."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause he brings Teddy presents and he stinks."

Bill chuckled. "Fair enough. Then how's this? Baths tonight—"

A great groan erupted.

"Because I said so."

oOo

Night had descended fully over Shell Cottage by the time the girls were bathed and swathed in matching tartan nightgowns. The girls lay before the hearth, the warm fire drying their hair, with coloring books and a plate of biscuits. They were meant for Father Christmas, but Bill suspected the old man may only get a crumb—if he were lucky. Sipping from his glass of wine, Bill enjoyed the momentary peace.

With Christmas upon them, and 2003 quickly bowing his head, this branch of the Weasley tree had much to be grateful for. Two healthy daughters, and a new son delivered safely only days ago. Yet it had been long months of worry to get to this moment.

A Dragon Pox epidemic had ripped through the community over the summer. Both of the girls had come down with it, but so had Fleur who'd been sixteen weeks pregnant at the time. Most adults were immune to Dragon Pox, having had it as children, but not Fleur. She'd been exposed before they could take any precautions. The blasted virus was dangerous enough for children, with high fevers and rashes that lasted nearly a week, but it could also be deadly. If the fever went to the brain, there was nothing to be done. But as frightening as Dragon Pox was for the girls, it had even more dire consequences for a pregnant woman who could pass it onto her unborn child.

For a week, Bill had watched helplessly as his wife suffered with the fever, afraid that she would lose the baby. In his low moments, Bill even wondered if that would be for the best. After all, if the baby survived, he would almost certainly be deaf, blind, or weak hearted. Even now, Bill felt a stab of pain in his heart that he ever wished—even for a second—that Fleur would miscarry.

Their son—who they had wanted so dearly, and who they had worried for so deeply—was healthy. A bit on the small side, but strong with red hair and freckles and a good appetite. So, he'd failed his initial hearing test, those weren't reliable anyway. Bill closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that it didn't matter.

" _Maman!"_

Opening his eyes once more to see Fleur standing in the threshold in her pink dressing gown, and holding a blue bundle against her chest. The girls popped off the ground, surrounding their mother and speaking rapidly over each other. For a moment, Bill didn't move, he just took in the sight of the woman he loved. She didn't appear tired to him, just quietly radiant with their children surrounding her.

Finally Bill stood up. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"Bah, I was bored," Fleur replied with a pout. She passed the sleeping baby into his arms so that she could follow Vic to the piano. Their eldest had been quite keen to show her _maman_ how well she could play _Jingle Bells._

And Bill was left gazing into the sleeping face of his infant son. A sense of peace washed over Bill as he stared into that pale, perfect face, but also a sense of certainty. Their little son, Louis William Weasley, was almost surely stone deaf, and it didn't matter. Lou was a fighter, just like his _maman_. As if to prove it, Lou's eyes opened, staring up into Bill's scarred face.

"Happy Christmas, little man," Bill whispered. He held his finger to the back of Lou's hand, and the baby wrapped his tiny fingers around it. Lou didn't care that part of Bill's fingers were missing, or that his face bore cursed wounds as permanent as the baby's deafness. In his gut, Bill knew that was what truly bothered him. No magic could cure a disability caused by Dragon Pox, just as no magic could heal Bill's face. Bill shared something in common with his little son that went beyond the red hair or freckles, something that Bill would never have wished on his child.

Holding the baby close, Bill brushed kisses along his hairline. "May the gods be kind, and neither of us lose our hair like Granddad Arthur, yeah?"

As if to answer, the baby turned his head into Bill's chest, pulling his arms free of the blanket.

"Fleur, I think our boy needs you."

Two little girls clung to Fleur's dressing gown as she crossed the room and smiled softly at Lou. It was a beautiful smile, one that was reserved only for their children, and usually when they were sleeping. She sighed contentedly as she took the baby from Bill and sat on the settee.

" _Manan_ , can we open a present?" Vic asked, clasping her hands under her chin, her mouth pursed anxiously. "Please?"

"Peas!" Dom repeated, hopping up and down. "Peas! Peas! Peeeeaaaassss!"

"Just one."

"Yay!" the girls squealed in unison, and Lou didn't startle at all.

"Bill, get zee blue one for Victoire, s'il te plait," Fleur instructed.

Bill crouched under the tree, holding up a giant blue bag with a rocking horse on it. "This one?"

" _Non,_ not a bag."

"You said blue."

"Midnight blue gift wrap."

"Is that like navy blue?"

Fleur pursed her lips, glaring at Bill even as she pulled open her nightgown for the baby to nurse. "It is zee one with silver stars and a red bow."

"This?"

" _Oui!_ And Dominique's is zee green one next to it."

The girls clapped and giggled, as Bill presented the gifts to them. Approximately five seconds later, the carefully wrapped gift was ripped open and each of the girls had a little doll. One with blonde hair for Vic, and a ginger one for Dom. They scrambled onto the settee on either side of their mother who was now nursing their baby brother.

"What will you name your baby?" Fleur asked Victoire.

"Flora," Vic replied.

"And what about you, my little Dominique."

Dom was holding the doll by its neck. "Dom."

Fleur shook her head. She hated that Bill had shortened all of the children's names, and that his entire family had followed suit. His wife was of the opinion that their daughters had very beautiful French names, and should not be called by such vulgar, English-sounding monikers.

Each of the girls leaned against Fleur, holding their dolls to their chests as if they were nursing their own babies. With the Christmas tree twinkling in the window, and the fire crackling in the hearth, Bill was humbled by the fullness of his heart. It had been a difficult year, but there were still many reasons to rejoice.

* * *

Author's Note: When I wrote _A Very Weasley Christmas_ , I decided to make Louis deaf. A few months after that, JK Rowling posted an article on Pottermore called 'Illness and Disease' in which she writes: "...wizards would have the power to correct or override 'mundane' nature, but not 'magical' nature." She goes on to say that, "bones broken in non-magical accidents such as falls or fist fights can be mended by magic, but the consequences of curses or backfiring magic could be serious, permanent or life-threatening." I took from that article that if Louis had indeed been born deaf, as I had intended, that magic would have been used to reverse his condition. My writer's imagination ran away with me, thinking of what would render Louis deaf in such a way as it couldn't be reversed, but also what it would mean for him and his family as his disability must be very rare in their world. With the measles much in the news at the time, I decided that a Dragon Pox epidemic would be the culprit. I modeled the symptoms after a combination of measles and rubella, which is also known as the German measles. And yes, according to the NHS website, rubella can actually be passed from an expecting mother to her unborn child resulting in deafness, blindness, brain damage, heart defects, miscarriage, and stillbirth.


	4. Chapter 4: Lily: Nonbeliever

Author's Note: Just like Ginny, I have three kids. So, this story is taken from real life, and dedicated to my youngest children.

* * *

Lily: Nonbeliever

 _December 2012_

"Here you go, Ginny, that's the last of them."

Harry placed two boxes on the floor next to all of the other boxes he'd dug out of the attic, each of them marked "Christmas". It was the first weekend in December, and Ginny's first chance to get the tree up. Just last night, Harry had dragged it in from the local tree stand. It was a lovely Fraser fir as tall as Harry and twice as round. Hauling it past the Muggles gathered in the streets of Godric's Hollow had been a bit of a challenge, or so Harry had complained as he'd brushed needles off his coat, but worth it by Ginny's estimation. This was the grandest tree they'd ever had.

"Cheers," Ginny said as she hung the stockings over the mantle. "Do you reckon—Harry?"

Upon turning around, Ginny found that her husband was nowhere to be seen. Well, more hot chocolate for her then. Using her wand, Ginny found the fairy lights, and directed them towards the tree. If she was quick, she could get most of the decorations on the tree before the children noticed. Whoever said that decorating a Christmas tree with children was fun had obviously never _actually_ decorated a tree with the help of pint-sized demolition crews.

As Ginny was placing the green star made of popsicle sticks that Jamie made three Christmases ago on the tree, Jamie himself wandered in with his sister in tow. He had the practice Quaffle held over his head, and Lily was hanging off his leg, begging for the ball. But they both stopped when they saw Ginny and the tree.

"Why didn't you tell me!" Lily demanded as she hopped up to her feet.

Ginny sighed. "Well, you're here now, aren't you?"

Jamie nicked a biscuit from the nearby plate and threw himself into a chair. "Let me know when it's time to put on the star."

"If you don't help, you don't get to place the star on the tree," Ginny replied.

He tossed the Quaffle into the air and caught it again. That seemed to be all the response Ginny could expect, which was just as well. Lily climbed up on the red step stool with a gingerbread man ornament, shouting Christmas carols:

" _Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the waaaaay!"_

Ginny smiled. Her daughter's singing left much to be desired.

"Mummy, is Father Christmas real?" Lily asked.

This was not the first time that Ginny had been faced with this question by one of her children. Just last year, Jamie had figured it out. He'd walked into the kitchen one day with Freddie and announced it loud as you please. Poor Freddie's mouth fell open, it had been rather obvious that he'd still believed up until that moment. Leave it to James to be _that_ kid. Ginny had a long talk with him about the magic of Christmas and the importance of believing. How, now that he was part of the secret, it was his job to keep the magic alive for the younger children.

"Well," Ginny said, smiling at Lily. "What do you think?"

"That's not an answer." Lily said. "Is Father Christmas real?"

"Who else would bring your gifts?"

"I think you do it."

Ginny shot a dirty look at her oldest son, but he stared wide-eyed back at her, and shook his head.

"Lily," Ginny said carefully. "Why do you say that?"

"'Cause. So, is Father Christmas real?"

"You tell me."

Lily faced Ginny, hands on her hips, and mouth screwed into a scowl. "Is Father Christmas real?"

Ginny sighed. "No."

Nodding her head, Lily turned back to the tree and continued to haphazardly throw tinsel at it. Meanwhile, Ginny wasn't feeling so Christmassy. Goodness knows how Lily had figured out about Father Christmas. Maybe she had found her gifts stashed away in the attic, she was certainly nosy enough. Or maybe she had just worked it on her own. Lily was terribly good at putting things together. Regardless, that was one more piece of childhood gone.

Had Mum warned her that the kids would grow up this quickly?

Ginny had to admit that Mum had said just that more than once. Taking Lily by the shoulders, Ginny turned the ginger moppet to face her. She tucked her daughter's hair behind her ear.

"Lily love," Ginny said. "Now that you know about Father Christmas, you are a part of the magic."

"Oooohhhh!" Lily clapped her hands together. She loved anything to do with magic.

"Yes. You see, Albus and Rose and Hugo, they still believe in Father Christmas. If you tell them the truth, then the magic goes away. So, now you are part of keeping Father Christmas real for the little kids by keeping it a secret."

Lily got a smug look on her face. "I'm part of the secret, but not Al. He's a baby, and I'm a big girl."

Jamie snickered, but Ginny shot him another dirty look.

"No," Ginny warned Lily. "Al believes, and there's nothing wrong with that. You aren't going to ruin it for him, are you?"

Ginny gave her daughter an extra stern look.

"Oh, okay," Lily agreed and threw some tinsel at Ginny.

oOo

"Ginny, the tree looks nice," Harry said as he walked into the kitchen.

"No thanks to you," she replied tartly.

The kids were sitting at the table over toasted cheese and tomato soup. With full mouths, they waved at their father. Ginny, meanwhile, shot Harry a teasing look over her shoulder and went back to mixing up batter for jammie dodgers.

"Oi," Harry protested and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Who dragged that bloody tree in? And all those boxes?"

"Yeah, Mum," Jamie chimed in. "Dad got the bloody tree."

"Watch it, the both of you," Ginny snapped.

"What do you think Father Christmas will bring you?" Al asked.

"I want some New and Much Improved Box o' Rockets from the ol' Triple W," Jamie said with a toothy grin.

"You can forget about that," Ginny replied.

"That's why I didn't ask _you,"_ Jamie retorted, smirking. "I asked Father Christmas, and he has to bring me whatever I want, doesn't he?"

"Well, I've written Father Christmas myself with explicit instructions not to bring you anything that explodes."

"I think I'd like the Real Lava Exploding Volcano kit," Al said, his brow furrowed worriedly.

"That's different," Ginny told him.

"I don't see how," Jamie muttered.

"Because that volcano isn't likely to find its way into anybody's pudding," Ginny replied.

"Well, there is no Father Christmas," Lily announced loudly, "so I told Mummy that I want a doll with red hair."

Ginny whirled around, eyes darting from her smug-faced daughter to Al. Blast Lily! More than likely this would be the last Christmas that Al believed, the last thing he needed was his little sister spoiling it.

"Don't be daft," Al spit, snarling at his sister. "Of course Father Christmas is real and he'll bring that stupid doll. Why do you need another one anyway?"

Sagging against the counter, Ginny looked at her husband.

"That was a close one," Harry muttered.

Ginny shook her head. "It's going to be a long Christmas season, Potter."


	5. Chapter 5: Hugo: Too Excited to Sleep

Hugo: Too Excited to Sleep

 _Christmas Eve 2012_

8 p.m.

Ron glanced at his wristwatch, clapped his hands together, and stood. "Bedtime!"

Lying before the fire, Rosie and Hugo groaned.

"Let's go, you lot," Hermione said, hooking her hands under Hugo's armpits to lift him off the floor.

"Yeah, Father Christmas won't come if you aren't sleeping," Ron added.

"Ron," Hermione huffed. She looked a bit undecided. Ron knew that on one hand, she enjoyed the tradition of Father Christmas, but on the other, she had argued more than once that it was lying to the children. Ron usually just rolled his eyes at that, and carried on.

"But I'm too excited to sleep!" Hugo announced.

"Ron, can you get him up?" Hermione asked. "He's dead weight."

"Off to bed, little man," Ron said, and scooped Hugo into his arms.

10:11 p.m.

Ron stood back to assess his handiwork. Not too bad, if he said so himself. Hugo's new big boy bike was shiny red with training wheels on it. Most of their wizard neighbors considered the Muggle mode of transportation to be a nuisance as Rosie zipped up and down the pavement, but Hermione insisted it was good fun, and she was right. Ron had learned to ride the year Rosie got her bike, and it was almost like flying a broomstick.

"All done?" Hermione asked, coming into the sitting room with a tea tray.

"See for yourself."

"Excellent! Now, for Rosie's doll house."

Ron groaned.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing, but it'll be midnight before I'm done—"

"No." Hermione held a hand up, silencing Ron, and then he heard it, too. Somebody was jumping on his bed. "I'll go check on him, you get started."

12:17 a.m.

Ron had been right. It took two whole hours to get that bloody dollhouse together. There were all these small pieces and bits of wallpaper, then Hermione had insisted on arranging the tiny furniture. He was beginning to think that the dollhouse had been more for Hermione than for Rose.

Trudging up the stairs, Ron could barely keep his eyes open.

"Uh-oh," Hermione said.

Looking at where she was pointing, Ron saw light sneaking out from under Hugo's door.

"I'll take care of it," Ron said, going around his wife and peeking into his son's room. "Hugo, what are you doing?"

"Hi, Daddy," the boy said brightly. He was sitting at his train table playing with his miniature Hogwarts Express. "Is it Christmas morning yet?"

"No. Why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm too excited to sleep!"

"Well, Father Christmas is watching, so off to bed with you."

Hugo jumped into his bed, pulling his Chudley Cannons blanket up to his nose so that all that was visible were big blue eyes, a scattering of freckles, and a mop of brown hair. Despite how tired he was, Ron smiled. He couldn't remember ever being so excited for Father Christmas when he was growing up, but maybe that was because Fred and George spoiled the secret by the time he was Hugo's age.

"See you in the morning," Ron said, and kissed his son's forehead.

4:06 a.m.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Wake up."

"Wha—" Ron started to sit up, but felt a small hand pushing him down.

"Hugo? What's wrong, love?" Hermione asked, leaning across Ron.

"It's Christmas morning," the little boy replied. "I think Father Christmas had been here."

"Hugo…"

Ron felt Hermione's torso stretch across his in the least provocative manner possible.

"It's four in the morning," Hermione hissed. "Go back to bed. The sun has to be up at least before it's Christmas morning."

"No, I think the morning technically starts—" Hugo began to argue but was cut off by his mother.

"Back to bed. No sun, no presents."

Hermione rolled off Ron, who drifted back to sleep.

6:32 a.m.

"Mummy, the sun is up."

Ron felt a rustling in the bed next to him, but refused to open his eyes.

"Hugo?" Hermione asked sleepily.

"You said the sun has to be up," the little boy said. "I've been watching out the window, it's only about halfway up the sky, but it's there."

"We have to wait for your sister," Hermione said.

"I'm right here, Mummy," Rose said.

Hermione sighed resignedly. "Wake up, Ron, it's Christmas morning."

"Just a few more minutes," Ron mumbled.

A pointy finger jabbed Ron in the ribs.

12:02 a.m.

"Ron, can you get Hugo," Hermione said. "We have to leave now or we'll be late to my parents."

This was untrue. They weren't due at the Grangers until half past one, but Hermione was allergic to being late it would seem. With a keen sense of self-preservation, Ron went in search of his son. He didn't have to go far.

Under the tree, nestled in amongst his new stuffed dragon and giant hippogriff, Hugo was fast asleep. Crouching down to get better look at the little boy's face, Ron smiled. He reckoned all this Christmas cheer had the little chap knackered. Finally.


	6. Chapter 6: Teddy: Joy To the World

Author's Note: Thank you to everybody who has favorited or followed this collection. I believe this marks the halfway point, which means it's almost Christmas!

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK Rowling, but _Dr. Seuss's ABCs_ belong to Dr. Seuss. You'll see...

* * *

Teddy: Joy To the World

 _December 31, 2016_

For as long as Teddy could remember, he'd spent his New Year's Eve celebrating Christmas at the Burrow. Oh, he'd celebrate Christmas on its appointed day, too—first with his Gran over a quiet morning breakfast, then with Harry, Ginny, and the kids in a loud, boisterous feast. Molly and Arthur were usually there, too. Regardless, the _real_ Christmas celebration took place a week later when everybody congregated at the Burrow. Molly would have a turkey and ham, five different kinds of pies, and a hug for each person who walked through her door.

Teddy wasn't sure how the tradition began. To his mind, Christmas for New Years was just the way it was, like breakfast for dinner. Now that he was older, he reckoned Molly must have given up trying to get all six of her kids in her home on Christmas when there were in-laws and Auror shifts to get in the way.

Trudging through the snow to the crooked house, he saw a welcome sight standing in the garden with a cigarette. Pax Weasley, adopted son of Charlie Weasley and Teddy's best mate since childhood. Last spring, the lean, black haired boy had left for Romania and his dragons before the ink was even dry on his diploma. This was the first time Teddy had seen Pax in more than six months, but he was as cool and reckless as ever in a black, dragon-hide coat and fingerless gloves.

"Oi! That's a filthy habit!" Teddy called.

Pax flicked ash into the snow and the two bumped fists in the Muggle way that drove both of their grans mental.

"You know those will kill you, yeah?" Teddy added.

They were wizards, cancer could be cured with a wave of the wand, but Teddy still didn't like the cigarettes. Pax assumed Teddy was just afraid of being caught smoking by his Gran, which was a fearsome thought indeed. The truth was, they were just so nasty.

"Not before the dragons do," Pax returned, taking a drag.

Teddy looked past his friend's shoulder to spy Molly's disapproving face in the window.

"Your gran will get you before the dragons if you don't stop."

"How'd you get today off?" Pax asked. "I figured Auror trainees had to work every holiday."

"First years like me just get stuck with the paperwork, but I'll be reporting for that at midnight. I worked Christmas and Christmas Eve, though. How'd you get the day off?"

"I've worked every midnight shift for two months to get this day off," Pax said honestly.

"So, who's here?" Teddy asked.

He wasn't exactly early, but he wasn't late either. If he had to guess, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione would already be inside with Rose and Hugo—they were always punctual. The same was true for Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey despite having two teenage daughters. Teddy's Gran and Kingsley probably arrived early to help Molly prepare dinner. And, of course, Charlie and Lavender stayed at the Burrow while visiting. There was an off chance that Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur were there already—entirely dependent on how quickly Vic and Dom dressed that morning. Later, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina would be competing with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny for the prize of _Better Late than Never_.

"The usual," Pax replied with a shrug.

"Have my gran and Kingsley done anything…embarrassing?" Teddy asked, feeling the color creep into his cheeks. His very dignified grandmother had apparently reverted back to a schoolgirl upon marrying the former Minister of Magic.

"Like sitting in his lap, or snogging in some dark corner?" Pax asked and scowled. "No, that's Charlie and Lavender."

Both boys shuddered.

"What about Vic?" Teddy asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

Apparently the attempt was unsuccessful because Pax gave him a knowing look. Thankfully, Teddy was spared from whatever Pax was about to say when the backdoor opened. From inside, the sound of the piano tinkled out. More color rushed into Teddy's cheeks as his heart sped up just enough to be alarming. Where there was music being played, he was sure to find Victoire.

"Pax Weasley!" Molly screeched. "Be sure to use a freshening charm on your clothes. I will not have the filthy smell of cigarettes in my home. Oh Teddy, come give me a hug, dear."

Teddy smirked at his friend and did what he was told.

The inside of the Burrow was everything that Teddy associated with Christmas. Boughs of greenery adorned every mantle and bannister, a tree groaned under the weight of homemade ornaments in the sitting room, the wonderful smells of good things baking filled the air, and the sounds of laughter interlaced with music gave the impression of Christmas joy. Guiltily, Teddy knew all of this was what was missing from the quiet home he had shared with his gran growing up. Still, he wished all of this noise and love and family really belonged to him. Another thought that made him feel disloyal because Harry and Ginny and the entire clan had spent his entire life trying to make him feel as though he belonged. Yet, it wasn't quite the same. Teddy belonged to just one person on this Earth: Andromeda Black Tonks Shacklebolt.

After Molly released Teddy from her crushing hug, she said. "Teddy, look at you. I think you've grown three inches since I last saw you."

"Granny Molly," Teddy hissed, blushing. "I'm not seven!"

"Oh! Here, take these into the sitting room, will you."

She thrust a tray full of cheese balls into his hands. It went without saying that this tray was meant for the enjoyment of everybody in the Burrow, but Teddy rather thought he'd like to find a dark corner and conduct a love affair with the gooey, hot pastry. Maybe after his belly was aching with the weight of one or two dozen cheese balls, he would feel magnanimous enough to share. Still, he knew what happened to those who were caught sneaking food from the Burrow's kitchen.

Carrying the tray to the sitting room, Teddy froze on the threshold. He was vaguely aware that there were about a half dozen people scattered through the room, but he only had eyes for Victoire. She had just launched into _Joy To the World_ , her long fingers moving quickly and enthusiastically across the keyboard of the old upright. Teddy's heart seemed to be beating with the tempo of the music.

When they were little, Teddy and Pax thought that Vic was a nuisance. She tagged along on all their adventures, but Vic was a girly girl. She tried to keep up, but she was generally disgusted by every bug, toad, and salamander the boys caught. Merlin forbid they stick a little, old garter snake in her face (Teddy remembered that as the worst hiding he ever received, thanks to Aunt Ginny).

But that had changed somewhere along the line.

Oh, who was he kidding? Teddy knew exactly when he stopped thinking of Victoire as a pest. It was the summer after she turned fourteen and he was sixteen. They went to Patagonia with the family that year for the Quidditch World Cup. There had been that whole debacle with Rita Skeeter's article, but if Teddy was honest, he had started to think of Vic as snoggable sometime before Rita's poison quill struck. Was it the moment Victoire materialized next to the oasis in that little red and white polka-dot bikini? Yep, it was exactly that moment. No point in denying it.

Before that, Teddy reckoned that he knew Victoire was beautiful in the back of his mind. It was akin to knowing how to breathe. But for the first time, Teddy recognized that Vic was desirable, and not at all related to him. Every part of his mind and body was aware of Vic in a new way—particularly the part in his pants. It had made Teddy feel uncomfortable and raw, as if he were covered in new skin.

Still unaccustomed to that new and not entirely welcomed awareness, Rita Skeeter attacked. Teddy was protective of Victoire, but he'd really wanted to hex that old bat for what she insinuated about Vic. Luckily, before all of his protective and hormonal feelings could get the best of him, they returned to Hogwarts where Vic was completely covered by her school robes, in another House, and out of his mind. Except for Hogsmeade weekends when she would be hanging on some berk's arm.

Now, here Teddy was on the Weasley Christmas, standing in the sitting room like a pillock, seeing Vic for the first time since August. Had he ever gone four full months without seeing Vic before? The idea was astonishing, and Teddy was hit all of sudden with just how much he had missed her.

"Let me have those," hissed Dom.

Teddy blinked at the overly tall giantess.

She wrestled the tray from his hands. "And shut your gob, codfish."

Teddy snapped his mouth shut, and tried to focus on the tree instead of the sound of Vic's high, clear voice as she launched into _O Holy Night._ Yet, he found his eyes betraying him as they snuck a look at Vic once more. She wore soft pink, her favorite color, and her silvery hair was particularly shiny as it cascaded down her back. Was it always that shiny? Had she switched shampoos? Merlin, he hoped not! Teddy loved how her hair always smelled of roses.

The song ended, and Victoire turned on the bench, her bright blue eyes landing on Teddy for the first time. They lit up. Teddy couldn't deny it, as he had so many times before, Victoire's shy eyes shone like a thousand candles when they met his. His treacherous heart settled into a more sedate pace, even if the rhythm seemed new and foreign.

(It occurred to Teddy that he may be dying.)

"Happy Christmas!" Vic said, her speaking voice as soft and melodious as her singing voice. She crossed the room to where Teddy was still rooted to the floor and hugged him.

It took a moment to make the noodles Teddy had for arms return the gesture. Victoire was tall and slim, her figure more elegant than hot, but her head fitted right under Teddy's nose. Her hair still smelled like roses, and it was softer than the silk of her blouse. When she pulled back, gazing up at him with a gentle, pink-lipped smile, Teddy could clearly see the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. The one feature that betrayed her as a Weasley, and the one Teddy thought he liked best.

"I made you a gift," Victoire whispered. "I'll show you later."

She released Teddy. He was bereft.

"C'mon, codfish."

Pax appeared in the sitting room, clamping one big hand on Teddy's shoulder and directing him to the exit. Dom and Pax were natural enemies, so any sign that they had colluded together against Teddy usually felt like perfidy at its worse. This time, with that raw feeling once more, Teddy didn't mind.

oOo

"You're not leaving yet, are you?"

Teddy looked up from where he was retrieving his cloak to see Victoire bounding towards him. All the Christmas gifts had been opened. Two different kinds of meats and eight assorted desserts had been consumed. Firewhisky now replaced tea as the adults awaited the New Year, but Teddy had duty in two short hours.

"I have to work," Teddy said. He'd avoided Victoire all day, uncomfortable in this new emotion for her that didn't have a name. Still, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of her.

"I haven't given you the gift I made yet," Victoire argued. "Just wait here, I have to get something."

"I'll be on the porch," Teddy called as she sprang away.

Outside, the stars twinkled overhead. Since he started Auror training, Teddy had kept a small flat in London, but he missed the country nights. There wasn't a star to be seen in the city. The air here, on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, was crisp with coldness. Fat snowflakes floated lazily through the black night with the promise of more to come. Teddy inhaled bracingly then exhaled to watch his breath hang in the night.

"Sorry," Vic said as she stepped out of the door. She was clad in a black, woolen coat with her blue and bronze scarf wrapped around her throat. In her hand she carried her ukulele. Her preferred instrument was the cello, but a piano or even guitar would do in a pinch. However, those were all rather bulky and hard to lug around, so Vic had learned to play the ukulele when she went off to school.

"I don't mean to keep you," she hurried to say. "I should have done this earlier, but I didn't know how to get you alone—"

"It's alright," Teddy assured her. "I've got a bit of time."

Vic looked around, and Teddy realized she wanted a place to sit. There was a thin layer of snow over everything, which meant wet bottoms would be in store. Feeling very chivalrous, Teddy used his wand to clear the snow from the porch swing, then applied a warming charm on its wooden planks to keep Vic's bottom dry and toasty. Teddy refused to give into more lascivious thoughts on other methods he could employ to keep Vic's bottom warm.

With a flourish, Teddy bowed before her. "For you, _mademoiselle_."

"Cheers!" she said, tuning her instrument. "I had to do a bit of memorization for Muggle Studies, and you know how I'm rubbish at it."

Teddy shook his head. Victoire knew the words to any number of songs, only she would claim to be rubbish at memorization. Humoring the little dummy, Teddy nodded obediently.

"So, I made it a little song," Vic continued. "I hope you like it."

There was no doubt in Teddy's mind that he would.

Strumming the ukulele jauntily, Vic sang: " _Big A, little a/What begins with A?/ Aunt Annie's alligator…A…a…A…"_

Teddy's brow furrowed as he stared at the girl across from him. Her eyes were on her fingers as she picked out the notes, a small smile on her perfect lips. As long as he'd known her, Victoire could turn anything into music. When she brought out her instrument, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it.

" _Big C, little c/What begins with C? Camel on the ceiling. C…c…C…"_

She hit a particularly high note on the last _C_ , and Teddy burst out laughing.

"Vic, what is this?" he demanded between giggles.

"I told you, my class assignment. We're studying children's books. Now hush!"

And she picked up with D and sang her way through the entire alphabet. By the time she reached the "four fluffy feathers on a Fiffer-feffer-feff," Vic's shyness fell away. Her face tilted up, her smile wide at the sound of Teddy's laughter. She was radiant as always.

" _I am a/Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz/as you can/plainly seeeeee."_

Teddy tried to clap, but he was too busy holding in his belly laughs.

"Did you like it?" Vic asked. Her entire face was alight with the joy of music and laughter.

"No one…believes…me," Teddy said, trying to catch his breath. "When I tell them that you are utterly ridiculous."

Victoire beamed at him.

"You are silly, I think it's what I like best about you," Teddy said. "And that is the best gift I've ever been given."

"Better than the broomstick Harry gave you when you were ten?"

"Definitely."

"Better than the pound of fudge Gran makes you every year?"

"Absolutely."

"Better than the Exploding Whiz Poppers Uncle George gave you when you were fourteen?"

"For sure, those got me into a load of trouble, if you'll recall."

"Not as vividly as poor Professor Flitwick, I'm afraid."

"So, why all this?" Teddy asked.

Vic shrugged, looking at her lap. "I've noticed that you've seemed a little…blue at the holidays over the last few years, I wanted to see you laugh."

Inside Teddy's chest, his heart came to a screeching halt only to burst into a painful gallop a split second later. How had she noticed? Teddy knew, because he worked hard at it, that he presented his same jovial self to the world at Christmas time. How had Vic seen through him? It was embarrassing to have somebody know his innermost feelings, but such a relief.

Teddy cleared his throat. "Vic—"

"Don't deny it, please." She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Um, well, I guess you're right. Sometimes…I wish I had a family of my own, but don't tell anybody. Merlin, Harry would be crushed."

"It'll be our secret."

Teddy looked at his watch. "I've got to go."

He had to stop by his flat to change before reporting for duty. It seemed awkward to just leave the conversation hanging when such a huge revelation had just been made. Honestly, Teddy didn't know if he was grateful for the timing or not. A part of him wanted to stuff that feeling of aloneness back into the corner from which it came, but speaking of it with Victoire somehow made it less painful to bear.

They both stood from the porch swing, staring at each other awkwardly. Teddy moved in to hug her, but Vic's ukulele got in the way. Quickly, her cheeks flaring with color, she set the instrument down then they were properly embracing. So many layers of wool separated them, but that didn't change the comfort of Vic's arms around Teddy's middle.

"Happy Christmas," she said, her voice a whisper in his ear, her breath feather-like against his skin. Her lips brushed his cheek with a shy softness, and all Teddy could do was close his eyes and savor the moment.

When Teddy was a sixth year and his potions class mixed Amortentia for the first time, he had smelled broomstick oil, old books, pot roast, and roses. But not like the roses in his Gran's garden, as he always assumed. It had been the smell of rose oil, like that was used in Victoire's shampoo. The emotion Teddy felt for Victoire had a name.

"Happy New Year, Vic," Teddy said gruffly as he pulled away.

Gamboling down the steps of the porch, Teddy made his way through the garden. When he looked back, Vic was still standing there. She waved, a sweet smile on her face. A fire lit inside Teddy's chest, two parts excitement and one part anxiety. He was in love with Victoire Weasley.

The New Year was going to be the best one yet.

* * *

A/N2: Please leave me a review!


	7. Chapter 7: Albus: Goodwill To Man

Author's Note: My oldest son is 10 1/2. He spends most mornings turning me into a mad woman. Then, out of the blue, he'll do something that makes my heart so full of love. Last week, it was the end of a tough morning, I was hustling them into their winter coats when he tells me that he's concerned one of his classmates doesn't have a coat. Thinking about it now, I still get teary eyed at his compassion. As it turns out, the other boy did have a coat, but I used that moment for inspiration. So, this is for my oldest. Thank you for everything.

* * *

Albus: Goodwill To Man

 _December 1, 2017_

From his greenhouse, Neville watched as Hagrid dragged a huge tree across the snowy grounds to the castle. The first of December had come, and Hogwarts was alive with the excitement of the season. The children's chatter was a bit more hurried as the spoke of Christmas puddings and gifts under the tree. Even the crusty old professors were feeling the spirit. The other day, Filius had cajoled Neville into bringing holly up to the teacher's lounge, and it was only November 29. Even Minerva was feeling the good cheer, laying a sickle on December 3 as the day Professor and Madam Pucey were caught under the mistletoe this year. Having a married couple on staff amused the Headmistress to no end.

Neville had to confess that he was as excited as the students for the end of term. He was looking forward to returning to the pub with Hannah and the girls. The Leaky Caldron would be decked out in ribbons and greenery, the smell of cinnamon mixed with warm Butterbeer permeating the air. When the patrons were in their cups, they'd start singing Christmas carols. Neville's old gran thought it a crude way to celebrate the season, but to Neville it felt homey.

Not least because that was where his girls were, Hannah and their daughters. Two of them were at Hogwarts now. Lizzie, a Gryffindor, was a third year, her sister Nora was a first year, and doing quite well in Hufflepuff. That left just Lainey still at home with Hannah.

It was while he was woolgathering rather than grading essays as he ought to be, that Neville's godson wandered in. Albus was a first year, too. He had the messy black hair and green eyes that marked him as his father's son, but Neville couldn't remember Harry looking as tall or as healthy as Al did.

"Wotcher, Uncle Neville."

"So, this is a personal visit, and not professional?" Neville asked with a little chuckle, but Al just gave him a perplexed look, and Neville cleared his throat awkwardly. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, you know Calvin Flint?"

Quite aside from the fact that Neville knew every student at Hogwarts, Calvin Flint was hard to forget. Besides having an unfortunate resemblance to a troll (both physically and mentally), the boy was also the biggest bully in the first year class. Try as he might, Neville never could find it in himself to feel much compassion for the likes of Mr. Flint. As a professor, Neville did his level best to act professionally with all students, but even after so many years of teaching, he still hated a bully.

"I do." Neville said. "Has he been giving you a hard time?"

Albus shook his head. "Not since last time. It's just…I noticed he doesn't have any mittens."

Neville regarded his godson with renewed interest.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we have Herbology with the Slytherins, right? I've noticed when Flint walks to the greenhouses, he never wears mittens, or a cloak."

"And…you're worried for him?" Neville asked, as he pictured the boy who tripped Parminder Thomas on her way to potions just this past Tuesday.

"He's always shivering when he gets to class," Al replied simply.

Neville's first thought was that he'd simply ask Mr. Flint if he needed a cloak, but immediately dismissed the idea. The Flints were a proud, pureblood family, that would only embarrass the boy and that was the last thing that Neville wanted. He would take the matter to Professor Pucey, as Flint's Head of House.

"I'll see what I can do about it," Neville assured his godson. "You'd best get up to the castle or you'll miss dinner."

Albus smiled, waving good-bye as he headed out the door.

oOo

James Potter and Freddie Weasley exploded the pudding that night at dinner, and Neville had to confess that he put the matter of Calvin Flint out of his mind until Friday, when he had the first years in class. Neville nodded to Albus as he walked in, then noticed a scuffle at the back of the greenhouse.

"Mr. Flint, is there a problem?"

The boy colored, releasing Toby Cogsworth from his grip. "No, sir," he grunted.

It was on the tip of Neville's tongue to dock points from Slytherin, but for the first time, he noticed Calvin Flint's hands. They were raw and cracked from exposure. The boy had no woolen cloak that Neville could see, but appeared to be wearing several jumpers.

"Take your seats, boys," Neville said, returning to the top of the class.

oOo

After double Herbology with the seventh years, Neville wandered up to Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor to speak with Adrian Pucey. He could usually be found in his office until at least four o'clock. Tapping lightly on the door, Neville waited until he was bade entry (it was not unheard of for Alicia to visit her husband at the end of the day).

"Come in."

Inside, Neville found the other professor sitting behind his desk with no sign of his wife anywhere. The rhythmic thumping of a tale against hardwoods drew Neville's attention to Adrian's spaniel who was sprawled next to the fireplace. There was something about Adrian that always reminded Neville of his gran. Perhaps it was the immaculate manners or the low tolerance for foolishness, but then Gran had a low tolerance for dogs as well.

"I needed to speak to you about a student," Neville said, taking a seat before the desk. Its front panel popped open, banging Neville painfully in the knee, and out crawled a chestnut haired toddler.

"Sorry," Adrian muttered. He came around the other side of the desk and scooped up his son. "His current babysitter had a last minute study group, and Alicia had to sort out a snowball fight. Say 'hello', Daniel."

"'Lo," the tot said and waved.

Neville rubbed his knee. "No problem, I was due for a whack in the knee as it was. Can't go three days without one, I'm afraid. So, this snowball fight…how many Weasleys and Potters were involved?"

Neville was surprised he hadn't hear of this already. As Head of Gryffindor, he seemed to be on call for every disaster that befell the castle these days. If it wasn't James and Freddie causing mischief, then it was Dominique, Molly, and Roxanne. And he thought he had his hands full with his own three daughters, that was nothing compared to the antics those three got up to.

"It was Ravenclaws this time, as I understand it," Adrian replied. He settled into the chair beside Neville's, the little boy on his lap. "You are in the clear this go 'round."

"I doubt that lasts the day."

"You wanted to see me about a student?"

"Oh, yes! Calvin Flint…"

Adrian grimaced. "What's Mr. Flint done this time?"

"No! It's not like that," Neville assured his colleague. "At least not this time. One of my students brought it to my attention that Mr. Flint doesn't seem to have the proper dress for winter. No cloak, no gloves…"

Neville trailed off when he saw the pained look on Adrian's face.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said stiffly.

"The classes are getting larger," Neville said. "It's getting harder to keep track of the needs of every student in our charge."

"And yet that's our job, isn't it?" Adrian stood with his toddler clutched to him, and went around his desk to jot down a note. "I must confess that I haven't given Mr. Flint the kind of attention he deserves. I hated Marcus when we were at school, and here's his son looking and acting just the same."

"I can relate. I've a hard time looking at Scorpius Malfoy and not seeing Draco," Neville admitted. "At least Scorpious seems to be a nice kid."

"What money the Flint's had was lost in the war, and I know that Marcus has never really amounted to much. Let me—let me talk to Alicia, she's much better at this sort of thing than I am."

Neville stood to leave, but found Adrian gripping his arm.

"I thank you, Neville," he said sincerely. "I don't like to see any of my students suffering, even bullies like Flint."

oOo

The middle of the next week, Neville was sitting at the teacher's table eating his breakfast and reading a letter from Hannah, when Adrian Pucey nudged him in the ribs. The other man motioned towards the Slytherin table where the students were beginning to gather books and knapsacks to head out for that day's classes. At the end nearest the teacher's table, Neville spotted Calvin Flint swinging a woolen cloak around his shoulders.

"How did you—" Neville started, but trailed off when Adrian shook his head.

"It was all Alicia. Marcus was being a stubborn arse, as usual, he didn't want to accept charity from my 'Gryffindor princess'." Adrian rolled his eyes. "So, after I convinced Alicia not to cosh Flint over the head, she worked it all out. Calvin gets what he needs and in exchange he helps out in the Hospital Wing three times a week."

Neville frowned. "There wasn't another way? It doesn't seem right that an eleven-year-old should have to work for a warm cloak."

"Flint's an idiot, he's down and out, but he still has his pride," Adrian replied, and shook his head. "Besides, something else came to light. Calvin's nearly illiterate."

Looking over at the Slytherin table again, everything fell into place. First year essays were often rubbish, but Calvin Flint's were abominable. The writing was illegible, and what words that could be made out were misspelled. It was only his decent practical work that kept the boy from flunking Herbology all together. Neville remembered the stress he'd felt in his first years at school, when he couldn't properly perform a spell or mix a potion, and his heart ached for the Flint boy.

"So, Alicia worked it out that instead of cleaning bed pans, Mr. Flint will be receiving tutoring three days a week with Molly Weasley," Adrian finished. "Good work, Neville, I'd say you performed your Christmas miracle for this year."

Neville reddened, looking for a familiar head of messy black hair in the crowd. "No, it wasn't my doing."

Folding Hannah's letter and stuffing it into his breast pocket, Neville scurried off the dais and into the crowd. He was just wishing that Albus Potter was taller, when he saw the boy walking with his cousin, Rose. Snagging him by the elbow, Neville felt a bit out of breath as he looked down into those wide green eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you before classes, Al," Neville said. "Go on, Miss Weasley."

They stepped into an alcove to escape the crush, Albus looking up at Neville patiently.

"I wanted you to know," Neville began, "that because of you, Mr. Flint will be getting the help that he needs."

Albus beamed up at him, and Neville smiled back. He couldn't help it, Albus looked exactly like his father, but he had his mother's smile.

"I'm really proud of you," Neville said. "It's easy to help those who are kind or friendly or even pathetic, but it takes a special person to offer good will towards their enemy."

"Flint's not my enemy, Uncle Neville," Albus scoffed.

"No, you're right. That's a bit dramatic, isn't it? But Mr. Flint certainly hasn't been nice to you, but you still held concern for him. I-I just couldn't be prouder."

Neville trailed off lamely. There really weren't words to describe what Neville was feeling for the young man before him. It was a joy that made his heart fill to bursting. Albus had done what even Neville struggled to do, and that was to show kindness where none was deserved.

"I've got to go to class," Albus said.

"Right. See you this afternoon."

oOo

Later that night, Neville set aside his stack of essays and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Dipping his quill in the inkpot, he grinned as he began writing:

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _I was just writing to tell you what an incredible young man your son is…_

* * *

 _AN2: By the way, did I mention it's my birthday. You can send me a gift in the form of a review..._


	8. Chapter 8: Molly: Christmas Is For Famil

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Molly: Christmas Is For Family

 _Christmas Eve 2017_

"Lucy, are you ready?"

Percy peered into the sitting room where his younger daughter sat huddled in the corner by the Christmas tree with her best mate, Belle. They were giggling, long limbs intertwined, and the dog laying over top their legs. Each girl was dressed in skits and jumpers, their hair combed; Percy didn't need Lucy's answer to know that she and Belle were ready to go. It was simply the sort of question a parent asked right before the whole family was meant to go out the door.

Besides, Lucy wasn't the problem.

A clatter on the stairs brought Oliver Wood into the foyer empty handed.

"No luck?" Percy asked.

Oliver shook his head, and Percy frowned. He'd dispatched Oliver to chivvy Mol out of her room, hoping the girl's godfather would have more luck than he, her actual father. Mol had been home for nearly a week now, and the most Percy had seen of his fifteen-year-old daughter was the top of her head as she came downstairs for a cup of tea, face buried in a book.

"I got the _in a minute_ nonsense," Oliver replied, pitching his voice high to mimic Mol's. "Do all teenagers say that?"

"You've more experience than I do," Percy replied. Besides Belle, Oliver had two teenage sons and a nephew who was just a few years out of Hogwarts. The three boys were currently waiting in the garden, as the house was much too small for that many hulking young men.

"What's she doing anyway?" Oliver asked.

"Revising," Percy replied with a sigh. "It's her O.W.L. year."

Oliver laughed, and slapped Percy on the back with more force than necessary. "I think this is what you call karma."

"Indeed. But if we aren't at the Sirius Black House in…" Percy checked his watch. "Twenty minutes, Audrey will kill me."

The Sirius Black House hosted a Christmas dinner every year. It was formerly the Sirius Black Memorial Orphanage for children left parentless by the war, but the children were all grown now. Audrey had worked at the orphanage before Lucy was born, but she returned in the just the last few years to help it transition into the leading charity organization in Wizarding Britain. The non-profit did everything from food drives to fund research for a cure to Dragon Pox. Audrey, who was in charge of fund raising, organized countless events, but tonight wasn't about making money. This feast was open to anyone who wanted a spot of company on Christmas. The war might be long over, but there were still lonely souls left in their world.

"What's the hold up?" Oliver's eldest boy, Bobby, stuck his dark head in the door. "We're freezing our bollocks off out there."

"Mol is locked in her room," Oliver replied.

Bobby gave the two men an incredulous look. "And?"

Percy and Oliver looked at each other helplessly, which earned a derisive snort from Bobby. Slamming the door behind him, Bobby jogged up the stairs two at a time. From the foyer, they heard pounding from the floor above. Oliver covered his mouth to keep from laughing. Percy cleaned his glasses. There was high-pitched screeching that drew the attention of Lucy and Belle. Something crashed to the floor, and the dog barked.

"Your son will make an excellent Auror," Percy commented.

"Katie thinks he'll never marry," Oliver replied. "No woman would want to put up with him."

A moment later, Bobby lumbered down the stairs with a kicking Mol slung over his shoulder. The younger girls giggled as Mol was deposited in a disheveled and sputtering mess on the carpet. Once she was on her feet, Mol took a swing at Bobby who deflected her fist easily, but her foot made contact with his shin.

"Bloody hell, Bobby!" she screamed, grabbing her foot and hopping up and down.

"There she is," Bobby grunted. "The lads and I are going to Apparate over."

"Take us, too!" Belle said, grabbing her and Lucy's cloak from the hooks by the door.

"Don't splinch your sister," Oliver warned.

Percy sighed. "Go ahead, Ollie, we'll follow."

Oliver didn't have to be told twice. He loved Mol, but dealing with a woman in a snit was out of Oliver's skill set, be the woman in question fifteen or thirty-five. And Mol was most certainly angry. Her mouth pursed and her face was bright red. In hindsight, Percy realized he should have stopped Bobby. The two of them were no longer small children, and Percy could see now that letting Bobby manhandle Mol just hurt her pride.

"Mol, you're not even dressed yet," Percy said taking in her leggings and oversized sweatshirt.

"I was revising," she said, pushing her red hair off her shoulders.

"And I've been telling you for two hours to get ready."

"Can't I skip this year? I've got so much to do! I don't want to get behind on my studies. Especially if I want to be Head Girl."

Percy could hear the echoes of his own fifteen-year-old self in his daughter's words, which was the hardest part. Over the last term, Percy had been proud of the dedication Mol's letters reflected. He knew that some of her drive came from competing with Dom, which was better than the alternative. The two girls along with Roxy had a long history as troublemakers, but Percy was glad to see that Mol's new responsibilities as prefect seemed to focus her. Now, Percy saw his daughter falling into the same traps he once had.

"Go change and brush your hair," Percy said.

"But Dad—"

Percy shook his head. "This is important to your mum and we'll all be there to support her."

"And my studies are important to me!"

"I know, but this is family. Go change."

Mol stomped her foot, before going back upstairs. The door slammed, and Percy sighed. What could he say to Mol to make her see that there were more important things than her own personal ambition? Percy was a middling Ministry worker, his daughters had never witnessed the demons that he struggled with as a young man, and he was glad for that. Still, how could he make Mol see that he understood her all too well?

oOo

The Sirius Black House was crowded. Most of Percy's siblings and his parents were there either passing out plates or making folks feel welcome. In the corner, a group of the cousins congregated, not yet put to work, and Mol made a beeline for Roxy the moment they walked through the door. With a sigh, Percy searched the room for his wife.

"Oi, Gryffindor, give us a hand, will ya?"

Percy turned to see his petit wife under a stack of plates.

"Why aren't you using magic?" he asked as he relieved her of her burden.

"If I was, you wouldn't be so quick to come to my rescue, would you?" Audrey kissed his cheek. "I heard you had a spot of trouble."

"You heard that I handled it poorly," Percy corrected dryly.

"I suppose that's what I get for leaving you in charge of our teenage daughter."

Percy shook his head. "You'd think I would know how to deal with her—she's so much like me."

"Don't take all the blame, half her genes came from me."

"That's true. Her affinity for short skirts, for instance."

"And her atrocious taste in men."

Percy laughed. "It gets better, right? I mean, she won't be a teenager forever."

"Ask me again in ten years," Audrey replied. "Now take those over to that table."

oOo

"Dad, it's snowing!"

Lucy peered out the window into the London street where fat snowflakes drifted to the ground. The last of the patrons had been sent home with a box of leftovers, and another successful Christmas dinner was over. The only people left in The Sirius Black House were Weasleys and Potters busily cleaning the hall.

"Look at the time, Lucy," Percy said and showed his gold wristwatch to his youngest daughter.

"It's midnight! Happy Christmas, Daddy!" She threw her arms around him.

After kissing the top of her head, Percy made his way into the kitchen with a sudsy bucket full of cutlery. As soon as he stepped through the door, Ginny relieved him of his burden, dumping the forks and spoons into soapy water. Half the women in his family were in the kitchen, but Audrey and Mol were nowhere to be seen.

"Mum, have you seen Audrey?"

"I gave her a glass of wine and told her to put her feet up," Mum said firmly. "It's a lot of hard work to put on something like this, and she did magnificently."

Percy smiled proudly. "She did."

Wandering into the dining hall again, Percy saw George who pointed to the far corner. With a nod, Percy followed his brother's directions, dodging brooms spelled to sweep up and dishes zooming into the kitchen. Near the fireplace stood a large tree draped in all the colors of the Hogwarts houses to symbolize unity. It was tucked behind that tree he found his wife. Audrey was sat on a bench, her shoeless feet propped on a chair, and Mol's head in her lap.

"Sh." Audrey held her finger to her lips when she saw Percy. "She cried herself to sleep a few minutes ago."

"Why was she crying?" Percy demanded, sitting beside Audrey.

"Well, she was mortified by the whole thing with Bobby," Audrey accused.

"It just happened so fast." Percy pushed his glasses up. He knew that was a weak argument.

Audrey waved her hand dismissively. "Honestly, I head about that from Oliver earlier, I just wanted to watch you squirm. Besides, Katie gave Oliver and Bobby a bollocksing already."

Percy looked down at his daughter's sleeping face. Her makeup was smudged, but despite that she looked so young. It wasn't hard to imagine her as a nervous first year all over again. Everything seemed simpler then.

"Why was she crying?" Percy asked again with less heat, placing his arm around Audrey's shoulders.

"She's concerned about her O.W.L.s."

"She'll do brilliantly."

"You don't understand." Audrey looked up at him. "She has no idea what she wants to do after Hogwarts. None. And it scares her. She thinks if she can get as many O.W.L.s as possible, then at least her options will be open. See, she is half my daughter."

Percy kissed the top of her head. "Did you tell her about your pitiful O.W.L. scores?"

"I did. She was not impressed."

"It's not everyday you find out your mother is a troll—ooph." Percy rubbed his ribs where Audrey elbowed him. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Nothing."

Percy looked at Audrey.

"We can't fix this for Mol, she has to figure it out for herself."

There was not one thing about that idea that Percy liked, but he had to admit that Audrey was right. It was no secret that Percy's own path through young adulthood had been a turbulent one. He'd thought he knew exactly what he wanted, but it had taken one catastrophe after another to make him understand what really mattered in life. The only comfort Percy could find in Mol's predicament was that at least she wouldn't have to make her own stumbling journey against the backdrop of war.

"But," Audrey added with a small smile, "I did get her to agree to put away the books. The next three weeks the only thing she's allowed to read is a trashy novel."

Percy did grin at that. "Excellent progress."

"She's going to be _fine_ , Percy. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because no matter what, she will always have us."

Percy looked down at his sleeping daughter again. "You're right."

"I know." Audrey rested her head on Percy's shoulder. "Not too bad for a troll, huh?"

And Percy laughed.


	9. Chapter 9: Freddie:The Night Before Chri

Author's Note: Some time in the New Year, I should be making an addition to _George and Angelina: Finding Balance_ , and a lengthy one too. Until then, here's a taste of this lovingly dysfunctional family. I'm afraid that George will be behaving badly.

* * *

Freddie:The Night Before Christmas

 _December 2018_

"Get out."

Freddie and James looked up to see Roxy standing in the door of their compartment. The train was slowing, and soon the Hogwarts Express would be pulling into Platform 9 ¾ to deposit the cargo that some would call precious for the Christmas holiday. Winking at James, Freddie stood up and grabbed his knapsack.

"Alright then, sis," he said with a grin. "Can't imagine what you want with good ol' James here—he hasn't turned your hair green in a fortnight—but I guess I'll—"

"Sit," Roxy said, and pointed at James. "You. Out."

"So bossy," James grumbled, gathering his things.

"I'm not bossy," Roxy said, pushing their cousin out of the compartment. "I'm the boss."

"Just because you're my Captain on the—"

Roxy snapped the door closed, cutting off James's rant. The other boy was just miffed because his girlfriend didn't take the train home. It was half a day's ride without gazing nauseatingly into Lizzie Longbottom's eyes, and muttering things like _I Love You_ or _No, I love you more._ Freddie found the whole thing distasteful, but James was his best mate so what could he do? Well, mostly sick the rest of their cousins on him. It was agreed that James and Liz were the most disgusting thing ever.

"So, you," Roxy said, and took James seat across from Freddie.

"Yep. Me."

"Are you going to break the news to George?"

Freddie squirmed in his seat. "I don't see why it has to be now. I mean I haven't even had my career counseling session with Professor Longbottom yet."

"Oh, and you're going to change your mind between now and then? Freddie, you've been decided since your were twelve."

"Who decides what they want to be when they grow up at twelve?"

"I've known since I was seven."

That was the year the two of them got real broomsticks. George had bought them, top of the line racing brooms. Mum had been furious. She said they were too much broomstick for a seven- and six-year-old child. Of course, Mum had been right, she usually was. Roxy had broken her arm, and Freddie busted out his two front teeth within a week.

"Look, Roxy," Freddie said. "What's the hurry? It's two years before I graduate, why upset the hols now?"

"Because George is going to start nattering on about helping out in the shop this summer. He's going to want to show you the books and teach you to mix potions and coax you into inventing. Are you just going to get his hopes up?"

"It's not like I don't like doing all of that stuff with him," Freddie hedged.

"You know what they say about bandages, Freddie."

"No. What?"

Roxy sighed, rolling her eyes. "Just tell him and get it over with!"

oOo

Freddie was spared making the big reveal because his dad wasn't at the train station, nor did he make it home by dinnertime. This wasn't all that surprising. The lead up to Christmas was a crush at the shop and they'd barely see hide nor hair of George until he closed the doors on Christmas Eve. Luckily, Dad took the next two weeks off so Freddie and Roxy would get their fill of him before it was time to get on the train again.

However, that just meant Roxy started in on the "you've gotta tell her" business. The _her_ in this scenario being their mother. Telling their mum wouldn't be so bad, and actually it would work to Freddie's advantage in the long run. Everybody knew that Mum was the key to giving George bad news. She knew how to talk to him. She knew how to talk him around. As far as Freddie could tell, Mum just yelled at George and gave him dirty looks, and why that should work Freddie had no idea, but it did.

Still, he didn't want to burden his mum with this information when he wasn't sure if he was going to tell his dad yet. So, instead, he turned her up sweet about her Christmas decorations, and her new shoes, and let her buy him some posh clothes. The one jinx in this plan was that his big sister was Roxanne Esther Weasley.

"Are you going to tell her?" Roxy hissed.

They were sitting on the sofa in the lounge, the huge Christmas tree looming over them. Four stockings hung on the mantle, the one marked "George" larger than all the rest. Roxy had a copy of _Quidditch Illustrated_ , while Freddie was perusing the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Christmas catalog one more time.

"Mind your own bloody business," Freddie snapped back.

Just then, he heard the snap-click of his mum's shoes in the hall. Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Freddie looked at his sister and all sorts of alarm bells began screaming in his head. He knew that look. When they were little, that was the look that immediately preceded Roxy tackling him to the ground. Now, at fifteen and sixteen, Freddie was nearly twice Roxy's size and she couldn't do that without magical help. Didn't mean she couldn't make his life miserable all the same.

"Roxy, don't you—"

"MUM! Freddie has something he wants to tell you."

Freddie's eyes went wide.

"What is it, love?" Mum walked in, tugging on the sleeves of her blouse. She'd had some function at British and Irish League Headquarters. She organized the minor Quidditch teams, though there was some talk of her getting into coaching.

Freddie swallowed. "You look nice."

"Cheers." Mum smiled. "But you had something to tell me?"

Roxy gave him a pointed look.

"Er, I took Edwina Cormack to Hogsmeade."

Mum's eyebrow arched incredulously. "Should I be planning a wedding? Maybe a nice double ceremony with Jamie and Lizzie?"

"No!" Freddie felt his cheeks flare with color.

"Got his hand down her pants though," Roxy chimed in.

He elbowed his sister hard. "Shut it, or I'll tell Mum about you and that McMillan twat."

"What's there to tell? I snogged him after a Quidditch match, end of story."

"Delightful." Mum rolled her eyes. "Unless your fingers start falling off…wait a minute! Is there something you need to tell me about you and this girl?"

"What?" Mum didn't think…Could she be worried that…Freddie's whole face turned red. "No!"

"He just wants to tell you that he'd not going into the family business, that's all," Roxy said. "He didn't get anybody pregnant."

"I haven't even had se—" Wait a minute, did Roxy just spill his secret? Freddie looked up at his mum, her eyebrows had sprung up and she looked like somebody had just flicked her on the nose. "So, yeah, there's that."

"Oh, Freddie," Mum said. She sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Is that what all of the whispering and carrying on has been about?"

Freddie nodded, and elbowed his sister. "She's been on me about telling George."

Mum's eyebrows quivered the way they always did when they called their dad by his first name. Nobody remembered how it started, but it drove Mum spare (and that was nothing compared to Gran) so George had encouraged it. The habit carried on, and Mum had mostly given in on the subject, the one giveaway that it annoyed her was the eyebrow quiver. George said Mum's eyebrows were like living organisms.

"Well," Mum said, and smiled. It wasn't the best smile. It was sort of encouraging, with a good dollop of concern on the side. "What do you want to be?"

"A medi-witch."

Mum blinked. "Really?"

"Well, they don't have a less sexist name," Freddie grumbled. "There's not been a lot of male medi…er, wizards."

"When did you decide this?"

"Second year," Freddie confessed. "When I got sent to the Hospital Wing for that potions accident and Aunt Alicia fixed me up."

"Aunt Alicia is a Healer, you know," Mum said, her brow furrowed.

"I know, but I've looked into it. At hospital, the Healer just patches people up and moves on, it's the medi-witch who actually takes care of folks. That's what I want to do, I want to help people."

"Well." Mum looked at him like she'd never seen him before, but decided she liked what she saw. "Where did you come from?"

"If you don't know by now, I'm not telling you!" Freddie retorted with a grin.

"Oh, you!" She hugged him. "I'll help you tell _Dad_. He'll be disappointed, but just leave him to me."

oOo

Angelina hadn't meant for the truth to come out the night before Christmas, but if sixteen years with George Weasley had taught her anything it was that her plans meant nothing at all. First, that new manager George had hired for the Diagon Alley shop ran George out. She told him that he was the head of the company, and not a shop clerk, so to go on home. Actually, Angelina rather liked that new girl. So, George had burst into the house with a big sack of gifts on his back (as if their children weren't spoiled enough), and wound up the kids like he always did. The bomb dropped after dinner.

"Say that again?" George said. He was leaning back in his chair, Butterbeer in one hand and a frozen expression on his face.

"I want to be a medi-witch, er, -wizard, Dad." Freddie looked nervous, the poor kid. And no wonder, George had been talking about Freddie joining the family business practically since the boy was born. It didn't matter how many times Angelina reminded George that just because they gave their son Fred's name didn't mean the kid would want to fill his uncle's shoes.

"Did you know about this?" George's eyes flashed to Angelina.

"I found out this afternoon," she confirmed.

"But what about the ol' Triple W?" George asked with mock lightness.

"It's just—that's not what I want to do," Freddie said.

George snorted. "One kid wants to play Quidditch and the other wants to be a Healer—"

"Medi-witch," Freddie corrected through clenched teeth.

"Ah, better. My son wants to ditch the family business for a wo—"

"Stop what you're going to say right now, George Weasley," Angelina warned.

George nodded. "Well, it's been a helluva run, Ange, but I'll be needing a divorce."

"George!"

That was Roxy, and Angelina wished the girl would have just kept her mouth shut. It was obvious to Angelina that whatever her husband was about to say would just be hurtful and bloody stupid. Everybody was going to feel like shit once it was said, not the least being George himself.

Angelina squared her shoulders, preparing herself to head him off before he could begin. "George," she started.

"No." George cut her off. "You got one kid keen to follow in your footsteps."

"It's not like I pushed—"

"An heir to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. That is all I wanted!" With that, George pushed away from the table, and stomped up the stairs.

"Don't listen to him, Freddie," Angelina was quick to say.

Freddie wore a steely, blank expression. He was a big kid, tall like Angelina, but with broad shoulders like George. What's more, he was a better person than George or Angelina could ever claim to be. Funny without being mean, easygoing enough to put up with Roxy, but stern enough to keep Jamie in his place, and Freddie had a good heart. Right now, that heart was hurting, which made Angelina's heart hurt.

One of these days, she was going to kill George Weasley.

oOo

"I know I was an arsehole."

George didn't even look up when he heard his wife enter their bedroom. He didn't have to, he knew exactly how her arms would be crossed and her damn eyebrow would look like it was ready to murder him. Honestly, there were at least a dozen times that he utterly deserved it, but this one was a whole new low. Even for him.

"'Arsehole' doesn't really cover it," Angelina said.

"I've got nobody to pass our business onto," George said, still not looking at his wife. If he didn't look at Angelina, he wouldn't know how much he'd messed up.

"First of all, that's not true," Angelina replied, all her words had a hissy little edge to them. Merlin, she must be really pissed. "You've got approximately ninety-two nieces and nephews, surely one of them would want to follow in your pathetic footsteps. Or you could leave it to Rose and Hugo, since Ron is your business partner."

"Yeah, like anyone who is half-Hermione could properly run a joke shop."

They were quiet a moment. The silence was worse then the yelling, or even the hissing disapproval. It gave George time to wallow in self-pity, and think over what he'd done wrong. Even when he was a kid, he'd hated the silence. Fred could take it, nothing penetrated that bastard's hide. Except for falling walls, of course.

"George," Angelina said. She paused, and he knew that was the pause that kept her from killing him on the spot. "You cannot tell me that when you and Fred were dreaming up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, either one of you ever considered the possibility of passing it on to a son."

"Not when Fred was alive, no."

Angelina came around to face him. Looking at her from under his eyelashes, George could read roughly three hundred and two emotions on her face. She was angry, so angry, and disappointed, but she was also sad. He wasn't the only one who got bloody sad about Fred. At the dinner table, after Freddie made his announcement, all George had been able to think about was how he'd let his brother down.

Fred was gone two decades now. He was dead as many years as he had been alive. How had that happened? George had vowed to carry on for the both of them. He kept their dream alive. In fact, he'd turned it into a raging success. Their dream, it was supposed to outlast the both of them. How was it going to do that if there wasn't a new generation of Weasleys to take over? Not just any Weasley either, but one of theirs—someone that was part Fred and George. Except, Fred didn't leave any children behind so that was left up to George, too. Damn, but all of this surviving twin business was hard work.

Almost as hard as being a parent. The minute that George left the dinner table, he knew the fact that he'd let down a man twenty years dead was inconsequential. George had let down his son, his Freddie. He'd hurt Angelina and Roxy in the offing, and he hated himself for it. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"You've got to make this right," Angelina said lowly.

"I'm sorry." The words nearly jumped out of his mouth.

Angelina's closed her eyes. "Not with me, you've got to make it up to Freddie."

"I know." George placed his hands on Angelina's shoulders, staring into her face. "But I hurt you, too, and I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever ask me for a divorce again." The words came through her teeth, and Angelina still didn't look at George.

"I didn't mean it."

"I know, and I don't care."

"I crossed the line."

"You crossed a lot of lines."

George sighed. "You're right."

Her eyebrows twitched. "I always am."

"Do you think you can forgive me, maybe be the right one for another twenty years or so?"

Angelina opened her eyes to stare at George. "Come talk to me once you have Freddie's forgiveness."

oOo

George made his way down the hall until he got to Freddie's room, only to find Roxie sitting next to her brother on the bed. They weren't exactly twins, but they may as well be. They were even the same age for about a month and a half every year. It was Roxy who shot first.

"That wasn't cool, George."

"I know," George said. "I was an arsehole and I'm sorry."

Roxy didn't make to leave—she wasn't one to take a hint—so George cleared his throat.

"Do you reckon I could have a word with your bother?"

Roxy looked at Freddie, who nodded, before she got up to leave. The apology didn't keep her from giving George a nasty look. For the first time, it occurred to George that the words might not be enough. Some primal thing inside of him panicked and he grabbed Roxy's arm as she went by.

"I'm sorry, Rox," he said earnestly.

Her eyebrows went hard, and George was reminded of Angelina. "It wasn't funny, Dad. What's so wrong with following our own dreams?"

"Oh Merlin," George muttered. "I've turned into my mother!"

Roxy laughed. "Now, that serves you right. Suck on that a bit, and maybe I'll think about not spitting into your Christmas pudding."

"I think I'll skip pudding for the time being, if it's all the same to you." He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her soft curls. "At least you turned out nice and short, unlike _some_ people who inherited all of his mum's freakishly tall genes."

Roxy laughed into his chest and hugged him back.

Once Roxy was gone, George sat on the bed next to Freddie. He'd come home last summer taller than George, which was an odd thing to get used to. Sitting beside Freddie now, George realized his son had grown even more since he left for school in September, but when the man-child looked up there were tears in his eyes.

"I knew you'd be disappointed," Freddie said.

"No." George shook his head. "I'm not disappointed in you."

"Could have fooled me."

"You know, Aunt Hermione tells that stupid story about the egg on the wall."

"Humpty Dumpty?"

"Yeah, that one. I mean, if you were an egg, why would you sit on a wall?"

Freddie snorted, the corners of his mouth turning up. "You know what's the worst part of being your son?"

"Oh, I would imagine the list is long."

"I can't even have a proper teenage sulk because you always make me laugh."

George grinned. "Well, this time I wasn't trying to make you laugh. I was trying to tell you that I'm Humpty Dumpty. I was broken, and all the king's horse couldn't put me back together again. And it's not an excuse, but sometimes I yolk all over the people I love."

"This metaphor is getting stranger by the minute."

"It really makes no sense, so just ignore that part, yeah?"

"I think that would be best," Freddie agreed.

"So, a Healer?" George asked.

"Medi-witch."

"Ah, yes, my son the medi-witch, I thought that's what you said."

"I want to help people, Dad." Freddie glared at George from the corner of his eye, his voice steely, challenging.

"Well, you know what they say, laughter is the best medicine." George could see he was losing his audience, so he sighed. "I reckon since the minute you were born I wanted you to come to work with me. I mean, your Freddie, and I know that you aren't my twin brother, but…but I miss him."

"Dad…"

"I'm sorry. I can't begin to say how sorry I am."

Freddie looked at him for a long time. "I wish you didn't want me to be like him, or you, or the both of you together. I'm not sure."

"Is that what this is all about? Are you rebelling, or something?"

"No," Freddie said, his mouth tight in the corners. "I want to be a medi-witch because that's who _I_ am. I just want you to be prouder of my good marks than you are of my detentions."

George wanted to make a joke. Honestly, good marks? That was just so…so _Percy_. But George knew what he really wanted was to break the tension. He wanted to make Freddie laugh and brush the whole thing under the rug. Only nothing ever stayed under the rug, did it? He was going to have to be serious.

"Good marks, detentions, none of that matters," George said. "What matters is that you are your own man, and I couldn't be prouder. It takes a lot of bollocks to defy expectations and do what you think is right, and I reckon that honors your uncle better than blindly joining the shop just to please me."

"Thanks, Dad."

They embraced, and George felt tears sting at his own eyes as the truth of his words settled in. His kid was blazing his own path, and not an easy one for a man, just like Fred and George had done all those years ago. Maybe Angelina's kids were all right after all.

"For the record," George said as he pulled away, wiping his eyes. "Fred would have taken the piss. I mean, medi-witch?"

"Geooorrrge," Freddie said, but he was grinning.

"I feel like you're going to get made fun of…a lot. Maybe, as your parent, I should prepare you for this?"

"Good thing I'm six-foot-three and still growing then, isn't it?" Freddie replied, and slapped George on the back with extra force.

"Watch it, kiddo. You don't want to break the old man."

They both looked up at Angelina standing in the doorway. Her eyebrows sat at neutral and her lips curled up slightly. George figured that meant he was forgiven.

"C'mon, you two. Roxy's made pudding," Angelina said.

"Hm, I think I'll skip it," George replied, and rubbed his stomach. "Trying to watch my weight."

"Oh no, George," Freddie said. "I bet she has one just for you, and you'd hate to hurt Roxy's feelings, yeah?"

Their son bounded off, enticed by the prospect of cake. George was left staring into his wife's eyes.

"Did you hear?" he asked.

She nodded. "I did."

"And?"

"My mum always said I'd regret marrying you. Good thing I love nothing more than proving her wrong."

George crossed the room so that he was standing toe to toe with Angelina. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?" He slid a hand around her hip and onto her arse.

"Hm, maybe." She gave him a hard look, then added, "Humpty Dumpty."

George snickered. "Let's see about this Christmas pudding, Harpy."

Slapping Angelina on the arse, he went to the stairs, hollering, "Did you spit in my food, Roxanne Weasley?"

"You'll never know!" Roxy shouted back and cackled.

Angelina was left shaking her head. Never a dull day in this house.

* * *

A/N2: Psst...Don't forget to review!


	10. Chapter 10: Rose: As In Ebenezer

Rose: As In Ebenezer

 _December 20, 2022_

Rose Weasley stood before a table of books, a wooly cap pulled over her bushy red hair, blue and bronze scarf wrapped around her neck. To her right, but not at all _with_ her, was Scorpius Malfoy. He, of course, looked completely pulled together in bespoke wizard's robes and a hard part in his blond hair. Aside from the usual pleasantries exchanged by two classmates who also happened to be prefects, the pair had uttered hardly a single word to each other. Certainly not enough to garner the black stares being directed their way from two very separate points in the shop.

Looking over her shoulder, Rose glared at her father before returning her attention to the books before her.

"What's his problem?" Scorpius asked, picking up a copy _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

"He thinks you'll corrupt me," Rose replied.

"Because I'm a boy, or because I'm a Malfoy?"

"I doubt he's decided which concerns him more. What about him?" Rose nodded in the direction of Mr. Malfoy, who was glowering at the pair from his side of the shop.

"Don't take it personally," Scorpius said. "He just hates Christmas."

"Oh, a regular Scrooge, is he?"

Scorpius looked at her, his fine, pale brow furrowed. "A what?"

"Scrooge. As in Ebenezer."

"Was he in _Hogwarts, A History?_ I don't remember a Scrooge family, was he a friend of Binns?"

"No! He's not a wizard," Rose said, turning fully to Scorpius now. "He's from _A Christmas Carol_. Haven't you read it?"

Scorpius blinked at her. "Whoa, keep it down, Weasley."

"Sorry," Rose muttered and cleared her throat. "It's just—It's a book. Mum read it to me when I was eight, but I've read it every Christmas since."

"Never heard of it."

"Well, it's a Muggle book, isn't it? I don't suppose you've read a lot of those."

"You would be correct in that assumption."

"No time like the present to remedy that."

Rose latched onto Scorpius' sleeve and dragged him in the direction of the Muggle Literature section. According to her mother, Flourish and Blotts had a meager selection of Muggle books before the war, but Mum had struck out to change that. She'd badgered old Mr. Flourish until he created a proper Muggle Literature section. It was stocked with all the classics from Dickens to Austin, and even American poets like Walt Whitman. There wasn't much in the way of new releases, Rose still had to venture into Muggle London for those.

Running her fingertips along the leather spines, she stopped halfway down the aisle and pulled a red book from the shelf. "Here. _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens."

"Cheers," Scorpius mumbled. "I'm not sure you needed to take me hostage to make me read it…"

"I didn't take you hostage!"

He looked at her hand, which was still clutching his sleeve. The full force of the Weasley blush blossomed in Rose's cheeks, and she snatched her hand away, refusing to look at the silly boy again. If she knew anything about boys, Scorpius was probably smirking and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

"What's so great about this book anyway?" Scorpius asked.

"Well, it's Dickens," Rose replied as if that was the only explanation required.

"You know, we've escaped the prying eyes of our fathers."

Rose glanced at the tall boy, a small smile stretching across her face. "We did, didn't we? How long before they panic, do you suppose?"

"We should find out." Scorpius slid to the ground, back against the bookshelf. When Rose just stood there doing nothing, he shot her a challenging glare.

"Oh!" She dropped down beside him. "We're taking up the whole aisle. What if somebody comes by?"

"We'll take House points and send them on their way."

"We're not at school. That doesn't work—" Rose glanced at him. Scorpius was smirking. "Oh."

He chuckled. "Relax, Weasley. If somebody comes by, we'll say 'excuse me' like well bred children and move."

For a moment, they sat in not entirely comfortable silence. Scorpius thumbed through the book, his head bent over it. His hair didn't fall on his forehead, how did it stay in place like that? Rose folded her hands in her lap, looking around for anything that wasn't Scorpius to stare at.

"What do you suppose they think we're doing?" Rose asked.

"Snogging."

Rose felt herself blush again. "Hardly."

"Because you'd never sneak off to the stacks for a good snog?"

That's not what she meant. Although it was mostly true, except for that one time with Jerome Goldstein at the end of last year. About the time his hand came up to cup her breast, Rose had completely panicked. What if they were caught? What if she were banned from the library? Besides, they were supposed to be revising for O.W.L.s.

"Oh, as if you have!" Rose retorted.

Scorpius blushed, much to Rose's satisfaction.

"How long do you suppose we have?" Rose asked.

"Before our fathers come charging in? Probably a few more—"

"Rose!"

"Scorpius!"

At opposite ends of the aisle stood their fathers. First, each parent glared at their respective child, then at each other. Dad's face was an alarming shade of red, and Mr. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed into slits. The two teenagers exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

"Come along, son," Mr. Malfoy said. "The crowds are getting much too _rough_."

Dad glared. "C'mon, Rose, you're working a shift at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes this afternoon."

"What? No!" Rose cried, coming up on her knees. "I haven't even found a gift for Mum yet."

"You're mum doesn't need another book, she's got hundreds. Let's go."

Rose looked at Scorpius, "You'll read _A Christmas Carol_?"

"Every word."

Dad grabbed Rose around the arm, hauling her away, but she called over her shoulder. "You'll tell me what you think."

"On the train next term," Scorpius replied as he was propelled to the checkout counter by his father.

"I can't wait to hear what you think!"

The door closed in Rose's face and she realized she was now standing outside the bookshop. She could still see Scorpius, he was sixth in line beside Mr. Malfoy. Skirting over to window, Rose wiped the frost off and pounded on it.

"Happy Christmas!" she yelled when Scorpius looked at her.

The last thing Rose saw before her father pulled her away was Scorpius' smile.


	11. Chapter 11: Dominique: Baby, It's Cold O

Author's Note: These last few see the characters as adults rather than children, so you will be meeting more original characters. The OCs in this story appear in several of my other stories. If you care to learn more about them, begin with _Pictures of You_ about Oliver Wood and Katie Bell. Also, it should be noted that I started this story first, and completed it last. In fact, I just finished the final read through. My apologies if it's rough.

Disclaimer: The world and characters (most of them) belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Dominique: Baby, It's Cold Outside

 _December 23, 2023_

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Dominique asked without looking up.

She sat hunched by the wide sitting room window with her sketchpad propped awkwardly on her knees. Outside, the ground was covered in knee-high drifts of snow, the first rays of early morning sun bouncing brilliantly off the white expanse and filling the cottage with brightness. It was the perfect light for drawing, but lasted only a frustratingly short moment. Turning at the sound of the front door snapping shut, Dominique smiled broadly at her boyfriend, his poor frozen dog sitting at his feet.

"Kettle's on," she said.

"Och, you're a rare lass, Dom. What did I ever do before you?"

By the time the kettle whistled, Campbell Wood had stripped out of his boots and coveralls in the mudroom. Dominique had returned to her sketch, determined not to lose a moment of the good light. She glanced out the window at the house on the hill where Cam's Uncle Oliver and Aunt Katie lived, then selected two red pencils, wondering which most accurately matched the shutters on the old stone and clapboard house.

"What are you drawing, pretty girl?" Cam offered a steaming cup of tea to Dom, peering over the edge of her sketchpad.

Clasping the pad to her chest, Dominique shook her head and tutted, "It's not finished yet."

"You remind me of my nan when you do that," he said with a smirk.

Imitating her _maman_ , Dominique scowled. "Go warm yourself by the fire if you're going to be a pest…but leave the tea."

Cam leaned in and kissed her, the bristle of his red beard scratching against Dominique's skin. He called it his winter beard, and apparently it would last the duration of the snow. Not that Dom minded. He was a mountain of a man with shoulders and height that no doorway seemed to accommodate. His pale skin was weathered and pink from working long hours in the out of doors, inked by a tattoo of a stand of trees beginning at his thick wrist and reaching up his powerful forearm towards his elbow. The beard just added to his rugged bearing, which thrilled Dom more than she cared to admit.

"You didn't answer my earlier question," Dom said as she resumed her drawing.

"What's that?" Cam sat with his back to the fire, and scratched behind the Border collie's ears with one work-hewed hand.

Dom glanced at him over her sketchbook. "Are you sure you don't want to come to France with me? I leave tonight, but you could follow. We won't begin celebrations until Christmas Eve."

Every year, her whole family traveled to her mother's childhood home to celebrate _reveillon_ with _Grand-mere_ and _Grand-pere_. They all donned beautiful frocks and went to Midnight Mass, then returned to the château to consume decadent foods and wines. Besides Papa, _Maman_ , Victoire, Dominique, and Lou, the whole family now included Teddy and Lou's young wife, Amy. Despite being a Junior Auror, even Teddy had only missed one Christmas Eve.

It was so different from the holidays Dom celebrated at the Burrow with her millions of cousins, yet _reveillon_ was a wondrous time. If she were honest, she desperately wanted to share it with Cam, but she had too much pride to admit that aloud.

"So?" Dom wheedled.

"Sorry, love, but a farmer has to get up to milk the cows on Christmas morning, too," Cam replied, shaking his head.

"Couldn't you get one of your uncles to milk the cows? Or your bloody brothers?"

The Woods may not number as many as the Weasleys, but their connections were even more confusing. Cam's dad died during the war, leaving Cam's mother a widow with an infant son, but there was no shortage of family. There were grandparents, dead uncles, live uncles, uncles who were more like fathers, an aunt, a step-father who was more like an uncle, cousins who were more like brothers, half-sisters, and of course, Belle. And that didn't even count Cam's Muggle side!

Dom knew the Wood boys a bit. They were Gryffindors, a few years ahead of her at Hogwarts. Bobby and Rory had been big Quidditch heroes, so everybody knew them. Besides, Bobby had given Dom more than one (well deserved) detention. It was no surprise that he was Auror now.

"Uncle Oliver and Rory both have matches on Christmas," Cam replied. "And Bobby pulled the midnight shift, not that I could trust either of those sods with the farm."

"What about your granddad?" Dom knew she was grasping at straws.

"He's got a bum leg. Nan's got him swaddled to within an inch of his life, and he's going stir crazy, but I'd be mad to cross Nan on this."

Dom didn't bother to mention Liam, Cam's step-dad who he good-naturedly referred to as a "city wizard". Some of her disappointment must have shown on her face because the next thing she knew, Cam was looming over her and pressing kisses against her lips.

"Don't fret," he murmured. "I'll be at the Burrow with you on New Year's, I promise."

"Of course," Dom replied.

"I'll make breakfast, you finish your sketch. You've only another twenty minutes of good light I would guess."

oOo

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Cam trudged into his cottage expecting it to be empty, but finding his mum in the kitchen. The smell of bannocks frying on the stove and the sight of Catriona Wood Williamson's righteous red hair took Cam back to his childhood. The dog whined, echoing Cam's feelings exactly.

"Leave your wet boots in the mudroom, and come have breakfast," Mum said by way of greeting.

"Mum, I've lived on my own for the last eight years, I know how to keep house," Campbell complained.

She smirked. "Well, you'd think you would have learned how to decorate for Christmas in all that time."

"I put up a tree," Cam protested as he hung his coveralls on the peg and set a drying charm on them to keep them from dripping on the flagstone.

"Throwing a few kernels of corn at an evergreen does not count as Christmas spirit. You should have let your little girlfriend decorate."

Cam snorted at that. Dominique was six feet tall; nobody called her little, not even his mum who was rather tall herself. Unless, of course, they were referring to the nearly six years that separated Cam and Dom in age.

"Where is Dom?" Mum asked, floating the bannocks onto a platter and over to the table.

"France," Cam replied, retrieving two plates from the cupboard.

"Without you?"

"Are you meddling? Where are the girls?"

It was only last week that he'd seen his half-sisters, Sophie and Haddie, when they returned from Hogwarts. They were teenagers now, which seemed like an impossibility to Cam, yet true. He could remember being that age, all he'd wanted to do as soon as he got off the train was go directly to Diagon Alley to meet up with his school mates.

"Up at the house with Katie and Belle," Mum replied. "Don't change the subject."

"From decorating the tree?"

"No." Mum gave him a look. "From Dominique. Why aren't you in France with her? Didn't she invite you? I got the impression that you two were quite serious."

Resigning himself to the coming interrogation, Cam sat at the table and plopped some bacon onto his plate. From his first Hogwarts girlfriend, Mum had taken a very hands-off approach to the subject of Cam and girls—unless he counted the countless lectures on contraceptive charms and chivalry. Dominique was a different story. Mum wasn't off the mark about how serious things were between Dominique and Campbell, and at an alarmingly quick pace. But it was more than that. Dom was the daughter of Cam's late father's best friend. Mum felt protective of Dominique, even referring to her more than once as "Bill Weasley's little girl."

"I can't just take off to France whenever I want, can I?" Cam told his mum. "I was thinking of putting in a window seat in the sitting room."

"With bookshelves on either side, that would be nice," Mum agreed. "You should get your granddad down here to supervise, he'd be grateful for an excuse to get out of the house. Now don't change the subject! Are you telling me you are in Scotland rather than France to milk those bloody cows?"

"And collect the eggs and feed the sheep and that devil horse you keep up here. I'm a farmer, Mum, I don't get days off. Best for Dom to learn that now."

She gave him a withering look. If he'd been sixteen, Cam would have cowered. Now, he just tucked into eggs to avoid it. They were right on schedule: first the food, second the pointed questions, third the dirty looks, and lastly would be the sage advice that Cam didn't really want but listened to anyway.

"Well," Mum said and sat back in her chair with a cup of tea. "You're a grown man, I reckon you know what's best."

Now this was new.

Cam narrowed his eyes. "Are you having me on? I sense a trap in all of this."

"If you want to bollocks things up with Bill's daughter, go right ahead. I certainly can't stop you. Stubborn as an old goat."

"Aye, and where did I get that from?"

"Your father."

"And since he died when I was a wee bairn, forgive me if I don't believe you. Your ruddy Patronus _is_ a goat."

Mum snorted.

oOo

"Dom, come play chess with me."

Stopping in the hallway, Dominique peered around the door into her parents' room at the château. Papa sat by the hearth with a chess set perched on top of a spindly-legged table before him. One corner of his mouth tugged into a grin that she thought was meant to be friendly, but looked more like that of the fox before he ate the hen.

"I'm supposed to be getting ready for tonight," Dom said, not budging from her spot.

"That's hours from now," Papa scoffed as if he didn't have more than twenty years of experience with Fleur Weasley's pre- _reveillon_ beauty regiment.

Dom poked her nose into the air and affected her mother's accent, "And beauty does not happen in an instant, you silly man."

"It does for you. C'mon, humor your old man."

Dom stalked into the room, and sat down across the table from him. "Well, I was intending to save Amy from _Maman's_ clutches. Be it on your head if Lou's wife runs screaming from the house."

"I will assume full responsibility."

"I wasn't likely to distract her without Vic's help anyway. When will she and Teddy get here?"

"After her final performance," Dad replied, and instructed a pawn to move. "With luck, they'll make it just in time for Mass."

It was easy imagine her beautiful sister rushing from the stage of the London Wizarding Philharmonic, Teddy in tow, for a last minute international portkey. Never let it be said that Weasleys didn't do things in a frenzy, even if that Weasley was now a Lupin. Although, Dominique wasn't sure if she really missed her sister or not. It would be just one more happy couple stuffed into the château.

Dominique had never really noticed just how romantic this time of year was, which was utterly ridiculous. Of course it was romantic; it was bloody France! They were in a lovely home surrounded by the most delicate of snow, a Christmas tree in every room, and wine practically flowing from the spigots. It's not like Dom had missed the fact that mistletoe hung over every door, or that her parents, and even grandparents, spent the day exchanging giggling kisses. With exceptional violence, Dom took her father's rook.

"You're drawing blood early," Papa commented over steepled fingers. "It's almost as if something were bothering you."

Dom glared at him, but Papa just smirked and trapped her bishop.

"So," Papa drawled some time later when he had most of Dom's chess pieces in a dusty pile of debris. "I was hoping Campbell would be joining you this year."

Dom eyed her knight, unsure if she wanted to move him or not. "So did I."

"Is that why you keep giving Lou and Amy dirty looks?"

"She feeds him off her fork, it's utterly disgusting."

Papa chuckled, his cheeks turning a bit red. "Some might say it's sweet."

"And some of us are trying to keep our supper down."

"You sound like your Aunt Ginny."

Giving into the inevitable, Dom told her knight to move—no point in trying to protect the queen, this game was done for. She didn't need her father's needling to remind her that she was being overly sensitive about her brother and his wife. It was lowering to admit that she was jealous. Propping her head against her fist, Dom watched the destruction of her queen with dispassion.

Christmas Eve dawned with the recognition that Cam had somehow managed to condition her to rise before the sun, and that he wouldn't be coming to France after all. Dom reckoned she'd been holding out hope that he would change his mind. It's not like she'd never been able to talk him around to her way of thinking before, but Cam knew his own mind. And, Dom had to concede that the farm did take precedence. It's not like he could pick up and leave town on a whim, which was something Dom had taken for granted in her life.

"So, are you just jealous that you don't have anybody to snog in a dark corner?" Papa asked as he replaced all of the pieces on the board.

"No! Maybe a little." Dom leaned back in her chair, frowning. "It's not like that. For one, Cam doesn't fit into corners, dark or otherwise."

Papa chuckled. "We'll have to check the Wood line for giants."

"He knew Teddy at Hogwarts, and he's met most of the Weasleys, but I wanted to show him this part of my world," Dom admitted. "I wanted to introduce him to _Grand-mere_ and _Grand-pere."_

"It's that serious?"

"It was that serious before I ever knew his name."

"Then you told him how important this was to you, I assume?"

Dom glared, and Papa smirked.

"Ah, I see. He was meant to read your mind, was he?" Papa shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, love."

She crossed her arms and huffed.

"Dom," Papa said more seriously, his blue eyes pinning her down. "I know something about the Weasley pride. It's never done anything but cause pain—if you don't believe me ask your Uncles Percy and Ron."

"I know, Papa."

"Do you? I don't think you do. I like Cam, and I would rather not watch you bollocks this up. Do us all a favor: swallow your pride and tell the man how you feel."

The truth of what Papa said made Dom squirm in her chair. She hated it when he was right, but it scared her, too. She was being forced to recognize just how immature she'd been in not telling Cam why she was so desperate to have him come to France, or even that she _was_ desperate. It fed into all of the misgivings Cam had about their relationship from the beginning, and this was one area she didn't want to see him proven right.

oOo

The magical tape measure flicked from one wall to the next, shimmering red numbers appearing in the air that Cal Wood jotted down on a piece of parchment. Cam leaned on the back of a winged chair and watched. It had only occurred to him to build a window seat a few days ago when he'd seen Dom drawing by the window. Now there was a stack of lumber in his sitting room and his Granddad was taking measurements. Proof, Cam was sure, that the old man was bored out of his gourd with the enforced convalesce he'd been enduring since he fell off his broomstick a week ago.

"Make us a cuppa, would ya?" Granddad winked. "And put some whisky in it."

"Aye, sir."

"Better make enough for three, that's yer Uncle Oliver coming down the lane now."

Not five minutes later, Uncle Oliver strode into the cottage complaining about 'women' and 'not a minute's peace' and 'giggling'. Cam knew that the big house had been invaded, besides Aunt Katie and his cousin Belle, there was Nan, Mum, and his two sisters. The Wood family home had rarely seen so much estrogen at once. Handing Uncle Oliver a mug of whisky fortified tea, Cam couldn't help but smirk at his uncle's harried expression.

"And you are their favorite topic of conversation," Oliver said and sipped his tea. "Another splash of whisky, I think."

"Me? Why are they talking about me?" Cam started to pour the whisky, but his uncle took the bottle. At that rate, it would be more booze than tea.

"Generally, all the lassies agree that you're an idiot."

Cam scowled.

Granddad chuckled and took the bottle off of Uncle Oliver. "Don't look so cross, lad, there's not a man worth his salt who hasn't made an arse of himself over a woman."

"Aye, when I was at Hogwarts, I once broke the nose of a rival Quidditch Captain because he insulted Katie," Oliver said. "And that was more than three years before we got together."

"And how do ya think I came to fall off my broomstick? I was trying to prove to yer nan that I wasn't _that_ old. I've been walking around with this thing ever since." He waved his cane in the air and frowned at it.

"So you're saying it's genetic?" Cam asked dryly.

"Have a seat, lad," Granddad said, and hobbled over to the settee.

The grin fell from Cam's face. He sensed a lecture in the offing, and he didn't much appreciate it. Prior to Dominique, he'd had two girlfriends serious enough to bring home, but neither of them invited this level of meddling from his family. Cam wasn't sure how he felt about this. On one hand, he reckoned that it meant his family liked Dominique, which was a good thing. On the other, they all seemed to think he was a ham-fisted prat who didn't know how to handle his own business, and that rankled.

"I think I'll stand, thank you," Cam grunted.

"Suit yerself," Granddad said with a shrug. "Yer mum seems to think yer trying to prove a point to Dominique."

Uncle Oliver whistled. "You're in trouble there, lad."

Color rose up in Cam's cheeks. He felt like he was a child being called onto the carpet. He didn't like it. Since he was eighteen, he'd managed his life, his business, and his love affairs on his own. It's not as if he didn't ask for help when he needed it because he did. When he wanted to sink the money his parents had so carefully set aside for him into turning the family estate into a farm, Granddad and his uncles had helped him clear the land and build fences. Aunt Katie had taught him to do the books and set up accounts. But none of them presumed to tell him what crops to plant, or what livestock to buy, because Cam had turned himself into an expert in those matters.

The farm had been his dream since before he went to Hogwarts. He might have been lucky enough to have the land and money to create it, but that didn't mean it hadn't required a lot of hard work to get here. Just learning the every day charms used in farming had been a grueling task. And in the end, no witch had wanted to settle down to the life of a farmer's wife with its constant demands that began before dawn each day of the year.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Cam denied, his fingers so tense around his mug that the knuckles were white.

"You know your ears turn red when you lie," Oliver said.

"Ollie," Granddad admonished quietly.

Perversely, Cam was glad he wasn't the only one being scolded.

"What's the problem, son?" the old man asked, leaning back into the cushions of the settee.

Cam gave in, and sat down in the chair next to his uncle's. "Dom, she's young, a lot younger than me. She's flush with the excitement of new love right now, but what happens when that wears off?"

"You think she'll fall out of love with you?"

Did he? Down deep in the pit of his heart, the answer was _no_ , but there were several layers of fear over that. At first, Cam had thought Dom was a high-flyer. Accustomed to partying and glamour, things that were not a part of Cam's life. Of course, she'd proven him wrong. Dom was just as at home in Nan's garden, or playing board games with his sisters as she was in a sequined skirt and high heels. Still, he kept waiting for her to tire of rising with the cockcrow or going to bed with the sun or the mud caked on his boots. All the others had.

"She's just so young," Cam repeated, because it made an easy excuse.

"You think she doesn't know her own mind," Granddad said, and took a sip of his tea.

"Katie was younger than your Dom when I married her," Uncle Oliver offered.

"Because you got her pregnant," Cam reminded his uncle.

Uncle Oliver turned red, and Cam dearly hoped that was the end of that conversation. He would be disappointed.

"And yer parents were just twenty when they married," Granddad said. "I've rarely known two people so in love. And of course, yer nan was just twenty-one when I tricked her into marrying me, and there's nearly as many years between the two of us as there is between you and Dominique. A good woman is not something you let slip away if you can help it."

"That's all good and fine," Cam argued. "But what if Dom doesn't want to be here?"

"And what if she does?" Uncle Oliver returned.

Cam had just about all of this conversation as he could stomach. He was beginning to think this would be a very long holiday if all anybody wanted to talk about was his love life and how he couldn't manage it. If Granddad was on him about Dom, Cam could just imagine what Nan would have to say on the subject.

"Regardless, I still don't have anybody to look after the farm," Cam said.

"Well then, it's a good thing your old mum was raised on a farm wasn't it?"

All three men looked towards the mudroom from which Catriona had just materialized.

"What about Liam and the girls?" Cam argued. "You'll want to have Christmas morning with them."

"And so I will," Mum replied. "Liam's been called off to some emergency in the Auror department, so the girls and I will stay here while you, my son, skiv off to France."

"Problem fixed," Uncle Oliver said happily.

"This…this _reveillon_ is a formal affair. What would I wear?" Cam blustered, wide-eyed and breathless.

"That's what a kilt is for, lad," Granddad replied and chuckled.

"And how will I get a portkey to France at this late notice?" Cam demanded.

"Good thing I have connections in the Department of Magical Transportation," Oliver grinned.

For a moment, Cam sat like a lump in his chair. He didn't know how he felt about this turn of events. Te couldn't remember ever being so annoyed with his meddling family. Still…he could be with Dom in just a few short hours.

"Upstairs to pack," Mum instructed, pointing at the stairs. "And I don't want to see you until Boxing Day, is that clear?"

oOo

The stark beauty of a snowstorm in the night was made more so by the fear it brought. Midnight was nearing, but gusts of wind swirled snow before the window where Dom stood, promising exquisite disaster. In one corner, Papa was reassuring _Maman_. Vic and Teddy weren't here yet, and if they didn't arrive soon, and the weather grew more fierce…

Dom looked away from her parents to the raging storm beyond the glass. She didn't belong here. The realization came on Dom with such a force that she pressed her hand to her aching heart. This year, every year, she belonged by Cam's side at Christmas, and she need to tell him that.

" _Maman!"_ Dom rushed over to her parents, who stared at her with faces pinched with worry. "I have to go, I'm sorry."

"Go?" _Maman_ echoed. "What do you mean?"

"She needs to be in Scotland," Papa replied, his eyes twinkling.

For one moment, _Maman_ looked ready to argue, but then she hugged her daughter tightly. "It is a very good zing zat I know how to create a portkey."

"Isn't that illegal?" Dom asked.

"Bah! Who cares about such zings when true love is at stake."

oOo

Pulling his hood more closely around him, Cam used his wand to light the way as he trudged up the drive to the Delacour home. The portkey had deposited him outside the gates of the estate, but it was still a long walk to the house. With the wind and snow blowing under his cloak, Cam wished rather fervently that he had not changed into his kilt before leaving Scotland.

Arriving at the front door, he applied the knocker with numb fingers, and waited. A few moments later, a portly man with a white mustache opened the portal, staring at Cam as if he were a beggar. Whipping off his dragon hide glove, Cam offered his hand.

"I'm Campbell Wood, sir," he said. "You're granddaughter, Dominique, invited me."

"Campbell?" Fleur Weasley appeared behind her father, her brow furrowed. "Oh, no."

She said something else after that little utterance that Cam had heard Dom say before. He was pretty sure it was French for 'bugger all'. To say the least, this was a bit worrying, but Cam barely had time to reflect on that before he was being pulled into the warmth of the house.

"Fleur, I just got word from Percy and all the portkeys to France were just cancelled due to the blizzard," Bill Weasley said, striding in from another room. He stopped, staring at Cam, then muttered, "Shite."

oOo

While her mother may know how to create (illegal!) portkeys, her accuracy was a bit off. Dom found herself pitched into a snowdrift on the side of a country lane. With the acres of snow and miles of stars surrounding her, Dom wasn't even sure if she were near Red's Wood, or not. However, she was quite positive that her sparkly, navy frock was soaking wet. Clutching her wand in her mittened hands, Dom pictured Cam's sitting room and turned on the spot.

An instant later, Dom popped into the warmth of her boyfriend's cottage. The house was dark just as she expected. Girlish screams, on the other hand, were a surprise. Hastily, lighting the candles on the mantle, Dom found Cam's little sisters starring wide-eyed at her from camp beds wedged between the settee and the chairs.

"Girls! I told you to go to sleep." Catriona strode in from the small guest room, the tip of her wand lit. At the sight of Dom, her eyes also went wide. "Oh dear."

"I came back," Dom blurted.

"I can see that," Catriona replied. "And I've just sent Cam to France."

Dom nearly screamed with frustration.

The next forty-five minutes were spent trying to get her Uncle Percy on the Floo, only to be disappointed by news of the blizzard. There would be no returning to France until the next morning at the earliest. After checking in with Vic and Teddy, whose portkey had been cancelled, Dom flung herself onto the sofa. Catriona had sent the girls to sleep in Cam's room earlier, so Dom was alone in the firelight.

"No luck?"

Looking up, Dom saw Cam's mum carrying two tumblers of Firewhisky.

"None," Dom said, accepting the alcohol gratefully.

"You'll be together next Christmas Eve," Catriona said, patting her shoulder.

Dom brightened at that, but she tried not to betray the giddy feeling gathering in her chest. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because Cam is like me when I was first in love with his father. He's a doubter, but he wants to believe in your love so badly he can almost touch it. He'll come around, just wait and see."

"I hate waiting."

Catriona laughed. "I didn't say you couldn't give him a few strategic nudges in the right direction and a wee kick in the arse for good measure." With that, she stood to return to her room. "See you bright and early, love?"

"Yes. Happy Christmas."

oOo

Christmas morning dawned with blue skies over the Delacour home, and Cam met it with singular determination, even if Fleur Weasley did not. She may have been a bit hung over, but more than happy to reunite Cam with her daughter. One portkey and a snowdrift later, Cam found himself striding up the path to his own Scottish home.

It was the kind of morning he was all too used to for its bitterness and its beauty. The snows winked and dazzled like diamonds under the sun's thin winter beams. The cold air was crisp, slapping his face and turning his breath to vapor. Just yards ahead of him, his small cottage stood, its chimney exhaling into the air, and the snow tucked under its windows.

And in the garden, wearing some dusty, green overalls and an orange muffler around her neck, was Dominique. She carried the old wired basket Cam used to collect the eggs, and following happily at her heels was his dog. For a moment, Cam stopped where he was to watch Dom use her wand to whip up snowballs for the dog to chase. He could hear her laughter as the dog careened into the front steps in his pursuit.

If Cam had been searching for a sign, some mystical message that told him it was okay to trust his heart—and hers—he'd been looking in all the wrong places. There was Dominique Weasley on Christmas morning, on his family land, wearing coveralls that had holes in the elbows, performing the endless chores, and playing with the smelly dog. That warm light of hope he'd been carrying for her grew inside Cam's heart until the fears were mere shadows.

Rushing forward, Cam called out her name.

Dom turned, a smile brightening her face. She threw a hand out to stop him from scooping her up. "Whoa! Eggs!" She held up her basket.

"Sod the eggs," Cam replied, going in for a crushing hug only to be stopped again.

"And kitten." Dom unzipped the coveralls to reveal the white and ginger face of a small calico. "Her name is Marmalade and we had a wee chat in which she informed me that she is a cottage cat."

Cam shook his head. He'd told Dom a dozen times that the cats stayed in the barn.

"Dominique." One of his arms meandered around her waist, his other hand twisting in her hair, to pull her very gingerly against him. "Just this one cat."

"I'll let you believe that for now," she replied with a smirk that Cam was happy to kiss off her face.

Leaning his forehead against hers, Cam cleared his throat. "My mum has been good enough to point out that I'm a stubborn git."

"That's funny," Dom replied, pressing her gloved hand against his cheek. "My papa went out of his way to point out that I'm overly prideful."

"I don't think it's something I can overcome, but I'd like to try for you."

"There's an awful lot I'd do for you." Dom leaned her body against his, nuzzling her head into his chest.

Cam wrapped his arms more securely around her. "I see that now."

"But first, I'd like to get warm." Grabbing his hand, and tugging him towards the cottage, Dom nattered on, "My sister is here. She's supposed to be helping your sisters make a proper French breakfast."

"In Scotland?" Cam smiled.

"I didn't say it wasn't going to be a challenge."

Inside, Cam found that Christmas had come home. The tree glowed with a hundred fairy lights, paper chains and painted pinecones hanging from the boughs. Giggles accompanied the smells of cinnamon and baking bread from the kitchen, and Celestina Warbeck was on the wireless. There was even mistletoe hanging in the door. Cam's eyes stole away to Dom.

"What?" she asked, laying her hat and muffler on the bench, her hair sweaty and matted against her forehead.

Taking her hands, Cam maneuvered her under the mistletoe for a lingering kiss.

"Happy Christmas," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

A/N2: Please leave a review!


	12. Chapter 12: Lucy: Dance Around the Chris

Author's Note: Christmas is almost here, and that means that this collection is almost complete. Thank you to everybody who has been reading, reviewing, following, favoriting. If you need some more Christmas cheer, check out Ladyoftheknightley's _A Christmas Gift For You_. I've been really enjoying it. Also, i just watched _The Family Stone_ again. I need a hanky, but I love that movie!

* * *

Lucy: Dance Around the Christmas Tree

 _December 2028_

Lucy Weasley didn't particularly like parties, or crowds, or even cafés during the lunch rush. She was what one would call an introvert. She loved books and quiet and small gatherings. The loudest thing about her was her affinity for floral patterns. Oh, and her family. Lucy reckoned that she should also include her best mate and her family on that list, as well.

As these things go, Lucy was blessed to be born into the large and boisterous Weasley family. Although, for somebody like her, it was a bit of a mixed blessing. She loved her family dearly, but too many for too long made Lucy want to hide. Something she was particularly good at doing actually. There were more nooks and crannies in the Burrow than even Granny knew about, but Lucy fit into each of them. After a few hours with her cousins, Lucy needed to recharge before she could rejoin the crowd.

It was much the same at Hogwarts, where she found refuge in the library. Even during exams, when every student was frantically revising, the library was at least quiet. Lucy still found calm in the quiet of a library. Namely the Dublin Wizard's Research and Lending Library, where Lucy had worked since leaving school.

This night, however, she wasn't in her small Dublin flat, she was in London, wearing a new party frock and red lipstick. It was the annual British and Irish League Holiday Gala at the Merlin Hotel, which was hidden amongst Muggle shops on Regent Street. Lucy had been to the party every year for the last four as the plus one of Belle Wood.

Oh, if Lucy had been blessed with the Weasley family, she had also been born with a best mate. Lucy was just three and a half months older than Belle, and therefore there was not a moment in her life that Lucy could remember not knowing the other girl. Their fathers were friends, and so it was quite natural that the two girls would be friends as well. Lucy and Belle had grown up in and out of one another's homes. Lucy looked at Oliver and Katie Wood as just another aunt and uncle, and Belle's older brothers were like cousins. But if the Weasleys were boisterous, then the Woods were obsessed rather famously with Quidditch. Two of the tree Wood offspring played professionally, which was why Belle begged Lucy to accompany her to these functions every year.

To put it simply, Belle did not find bringing an actual date to the gala a prudent move. With her father and at least one of her brothers in attendance every year, prospective dates were usually run off pretty quickly. Therefore, Lucy found herself sitting on a table, hidden behind a row of cloaks in the coatroom of the Merlin Hotel, reading _Little Women_ by the light of her wand.

Lucy had already weathered the storm of photographers on her way into the gala. She'd sat through opening remarks, danced with Rory Wood who stepped on her toes, and drank three glasses of champagne. There was still a long night of dancing and mingling to endure unless Belle decided to beg off early, but that wasn't likely. Belle and her team, were the previous year's champions, and the toast of the town. For now, however, Lucy's head hurt and she needed a quiet place where she could breath.

Thus, the coatroom. Belle would understand.

oOo

Travis Yarbough, American import for Puddlemere United, was not the Gala type. Maybe it was his Yankee roots, but suits and ties only served to make him feel as though he was being strangled slowly. Coach had told him two hours and all the free booze he could hope for, then he could leave this blasted party. Well, he'd done his time and now he was free. Yanking the tie around his neck loose, and undoing the top button, he pushed his way into the coatroom.

There had been a coat check girl when he first came in, but she seemed to have disappeared. Considering the number of drunk athletes present, and the girl's rather impressive front, it wasn't too hard to imagine how she was spending her break. Now, where was his coat stored? He had half a mind to leave it, but he'd stuffed the name of the pub where he was meeting his friends in the pocket.

Coming around the second row of cloaks, Travis stumbled to a halt. Sticking out from under yards of wool were two finely shaped calves. A black pump was dangling from one small foot, the other bare but for red nail polish. Pale, delicately freckled skin stretched up to a pair of pink knees that Travis inexplicably wanted to press his lips against.

Slowly, Travis approached the legs. He wanted to see the face attached to those pink knees, but at the same time he didn't. As long as those cloaks obscured his view, she was the most beautiful girl in the world with clear skin and loads of hair and a nice rack. What happened if he pushed back those cloaks? She could be a hag. He would have to kiss goodbye all the fantasies he was concocting about pushing her green and pink flowered skit up to discover if her thighs were as equally as creamy as her calves.

Well, Coach Wood didn't call Travis a reckless idiot for nothing. Travis pulled out his wand, directed it at the row of cloaks, and held his breath as they slid apart. _He should have known._

Those were the words that ran through Travis' mind when he saw the woman's red hair. He should have known she'd be a redhead, with all those freckles and pale skin. If he had a type, she wasn't it, but that wasn't to say that Travis was disappointed. This woman had what his old nana would have called an elfin face, with large blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a red mouth. Though, he supposed that her mouth owed its color to lipstick. A thought which made Travis want to wipe it off with his thumb. Or his own mouth.

She had a book open in her lap, her small hand curled around an elegant wand. Color blossomed over the skin of her chest and graceful neck into her pretty face. It made Travis think about her thighs again, wondering what color they were right now. The same milky white as her arms, or that delicious pink on her slight chest?

"Hi," he said.

"You're American," she blurted out.

Travis smiled. "Why do I think you'd say "you're a murderer" in the same tone?"

"No! That's not…I'm reading an American book, see?" She held up the burgundy book emblazoned with hot pink scissors and the words _Little Women_ across the top.

"Are you No Maj-born? Travis asked. He was No Maj-born, and it was his experience that magic-born witches and wizards had little use for No-Maj literature. In fact, most No Maj-born kids turned their backs on the things they grew up with. Hadn't he? He'd been quick to give up football in favor of Quodpot, only to ditch that for Quidditch.

"No-Maj?" she echoed, her brow furrowed. "Oh, you mean Muggle? No, I'm a pureblood."

"Is it normal for pureblood witches to read No, er, _Muggle_ books?"

"It was in my home." She set her wand down and extended her hand. "I'm Lucy."

Travis enveloped her small hand into his own large paw. "Nice to meet you, Lucy."

"In England, the polite thing to do is introduce yourself once the other person has."

Travis hadn't expected little Lucy to challenge him, but her chin had raised just a fraction, which made him grin. He'd been imagining her as a frightened mouse, but she had a bit of fire to match that red hair. Intriguing.

"It generally works the same way in America, too," he replied.

She cocked her head expectantly. Damn, that was the perfect angle to kiss her.

oOo

Once, when she was a girl, her parents took Lucy and her sister to a Muggle zoo. While she was there, Lucy saw a brown bear that stood on its powerful hind legs, showing off a tuft of white fur on its barrel chest. This man reminded Lucy of that bear. His hair was a rather non-descript brown that swept away from his forehead in a manner that might have been dashing on another man, but was roguish on him. He wore a full beard that nearly obscured the top of his shirt. Whenever he smiled, it was just a flash of teeth and plump lower lip. He had the same barreled chest as that bear, and his hands were wide and calloused.

He wasn't excessively tall like many of the men of Lucy's acquaintance, but he was terribly rude. It was his American-ness, Lucy thought. She'd never really known any American wizards, but she wasn't going to dwell on that for the moment.

Stooping down, he picked up her lost shoe. "You must not follow Quidditch much."

"Is that your way of saying that you are very famous and I should know your name?"

"Something like that."

He smiled again. He had a nice smile.

"In case it's slipped your noticed, I'm attending a Quidditch gala," Lucy said. "I think it's safe to conclude that I follow Quidditch. What does that say about your fame?"

One bear paw clutched his chest. "You wound me."

"If this is flirting, I've seen better."

"I bet you have."

"No, that's not—I didn't mean—Oh!"

She'd only meant that she was related to any number of charmers. Her cousin, Freddie, for instance. Or even James. Not that she was the object of flirtation. Because she wasn't. Usually. Most of the time she was invisible, or simply not there. One had to actually leave her flat to be flirted with, after all.

"Are you trying to say you don't have guys beating down your door?" he asked. He had brown eyes, very, very dark brown eyes.

Lucy shook her head, then extended her hand. "May I have my shoe please?"

"Will your date be wondering where you are?"

"Most likely. Although, I'm not Belle's date, I'm just here as a favor to a friend."

"Really?" He moved closer to her just a fraction, but it felt as though he'd taken up the entire room. "But then why are you in the coatroom and not with this Belle?"

"I-I just needed to be alone for a moment."

He nodded. "It's Travis, by the way."

"Pardon me?"

"My name. Travis."

"Oh."

"Here's your shoe, Cinderella. Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?"

"What?" Lucy honestly had no idea what he, what _Travis_ was talking about.

He grinned at her. "You don't know your Muggle fairy tales. Shame, shame. Save me your midnight dance and I'll tell you all about it."

"What if I'm not here at midnight?" Lucy asked. She had been hoping to persuade Belle to leave in the next hour or so.

Travis winked at her. "Just save me that dance."

oOo

So much for his plans for the night. Travis found himself looking down into the ballroom of the blasted hotel instead of sneaking out for drinks with some old buddies visiting from the States. He supposed the hotel was decked out in Christmas splendor. There really wasn't any other way of putting it when everything from the twelve-foot tree to the wall sconces glowed a warm green and gold.

Searching the space for a distinctive shade of red, Travis cursed the number of Scots and Irishmen in the place. There weren't this many redheads in all of America, he was sure of it. But then he caught sight of her green dress.

Lucy Goosey. Damn, he bet she would hate that nickname.

Travis' eyes followed her as she crossed the dance floor and took a seat next to a blonde woman that Travis recognized instantly. In two years with the British and Irish League, he'd certainly played against her often enough. Belle Wood, celebrated Chaser of the Appleby Arrows, and daughter of Travis' defense specialist, Coach Oliver Wood. Who happened to be sitting on Lucy's other side, and speaking to the redhead like she was another daughter. In the pit of his stomach, Travis just knew that this spelled trouble. The only thing that could be worse was a large and overprotective family.

oOo

For what felt like the one-hundredth time, Lucy checked the watch in her little clutch bag. It read 11:57, just two minutes later than the last time she had checked. Travis had said he would claim her midnight dance. Had he meant exactly midnight? And where had he been all night. Despite escaping to a broom cupboard for some peace and quiet about an hour ago, Lucy had kept watch for her bear-man, but hadn't caught sight of him. A part of her was afraid that he was just trying to make a fool of her and had no intention of claiming that dance. But why would he do that?

For the same reason James had dipped her hair in ink during second year, because he could.

Sipping her champagne, Lucy looked around. All of her tablemates had abandoned her. Rory and his date had skivved off around 10:30. Uncle Oliver and Aunt Katie were dancing, which consisted more of staring longingly at one another while they swayed back and forth. The rest of the Arrows had collected Belle not long ago for a team toast. Belle had invited Lucy along, but she'd declined. No doubt Belle assumed Lucy just wanted to be alone, but really she was waiting for her midnight dance.

"So, you don't turn into a pumpkin at midnight after all?"

Lucy looked up to see Travis grinning down at her. He'd lost his suit jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on his forearms. Excitement buzzed inside of Lucy, making her feel reckless.

"You thought I would stand you up," Travis accused, his eyebrow quirked challengingly.

"The thought crossed my mind," Lucy admitted. She was smiling, and it was much too big and unguarded.

"Have faith, Lucy Goosey. Come dance with me."

He extended his hand. Lucy stared at it a moment, telling herself not to appear too keen. What must he think of her? Surely one look told him that Lucy was nothing but a poor wallflower. Perhaps this was just some sort of good deed. An act of Christmas charity. Making the invisible girl feel desired. None of that stopped Lucy from placing her hand in his, or from her heart soaring when he pulled her onto the dance floor.

This wasn't dancing. Lucy knew how to do a proper waltz and foxtrot, this was neither. This was being held against Travis's broad chest while they swayed back and forth. Goodness, he smelled like pine and leather and Firewhisky.

"What are you doing after this?" Travis asked.

"G-going home," Lucy said. Oh no, she didn't just—that didn't sound like an invitation, did it? "Alone."

"And what about Christmas?"

"I'll be with my family, I reckon."

Travis nodded. "And what about the rest of the Christmases for the rest of your life?"

"Family again. Where else would I be?"

"I've a few ideas." He bent his head nearer hers.

Lucy caught her breath, then blurted, "You were going to tell me about Cinderella."

Travis chuckled. She could feel it rumbling through his chest against her breasts. It was a nice, whisky chuckle that made Lucy's cheeks turn red. For one moment, she reconsidered her declaration that she was returning to her flat alone, but shook that thought out of her head. She hardly knew this man!

Still, Lucy couldn't help but think that this had been the best Christmas party she'd ever been to. Especially when one broad hand slid down to rest in the small of her back. Goodness!


	13. Chapter 13: James: White Christmas

Author's Note: Last chapter! And you know what that means? Tomorrow is Christmas! I hope all of you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Some time in the new year I will be making an addition to _George and Angelina: Finding Balance_. This one is going to be a little different. This will be a multiple chapter story, and I'll be releasing one new chapter each week. If you liked this, I hope you'll take the time to check out _George and Angelina_ as well. Thank you for taking the time to read my work.

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

James: White Christmas

 _December 24, 2030_

2 p.m.

James glanced out the window of his London flat to see Muggles hurrying by and a gray sky. It was shaping up to be a bloody awful Christmas. No snow, working second shift, and he was about to piss off his wife. Again.

"It's not fair that you have to work tonight," Liz said, coming into the bedroom. "This is five years in a row that you've worked Christmas Eve and Christmas. When do you earn enough seniority to catch a break?"

"Life of an Auror," James replied, pulling on his button down. "And look at it this way, it frees you up to help your mum at the pub."

Liz shot him dirty look. "The last place I want to be on Christmas Eve is the Leaky Caldron."

"Oh, but maybe I can come by for dinner," James said, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the tip of her nose. "You'll be wearing that fetching serving wench costume—"

"As will my sisters and mother."

"Don't ruin the fantasy. You'll have your bosoms hanging out—"

Liz shook her head. "James!"

"And I'll be dashing in my Auror's uniform—and you know how you can't resist that—I'll order the special and pinch your arse—"

"And I'll hex you."

"For which I'll have to arrest you for assaulting an Auror, but I can probably be persuaded to let the charges drop…"

Liz pouted, brushing her hand over his unruly auburn hair. "I had plans for us tonight. I thought you said you'd have Christmas Eve off this year."

For as long as James could remember he'd been in love with Elizabeth Francis Longbottom Potter. She was brave enough to keep up with him, but forgiving enough to keep him around. And beautiful, so beautiful, with properly ginger hair. Not like his mum and sister who had orange hair. Liz's long locks weren't orange or brown, they were that in between color. With big blue eyes and lightly freckled skin. He could remember when she was a skinny kid, and he could remember the year she started spilling out of her bra. James had stolen his first kiss when he was seven, and he hadn't looked back. But long experience told him when it was best to use a bit of distraction if he valued his bollocks.

James pressed his lips against Liz's soft neck, his hands creeping northward. "You know, I still have fifty whole minutes before my shift begins."

"James Potter," Liz said, pulling out his arms. "What have you done?"

2:30 p.m.

So, about three weeks ago, James had been on a raid. It was pretty routine-all they were doing was busting up a shipment of contraband from Egypt. What James considered boring, the rookies he was in charge of found terrifying. They were all pretty nervous, and James just wanted to alleviate some of the tension. He could have offered to buy everybody a round at the Leaky Caldron—he did get a familial discount after all—but no. He'd told Archie Hawick that if they didn't have the whole thing cleaned up by dinnertime, James would work Christmas Eve for the green kid.

Well, that's when all hell broke loose.

The intelligence had been faulty. The shipment had been a cover for a dragon egg dealer who was caught in the act. There had been a battle that landed Hawick and two of his brethren in St. Mungo's overnight. The paperwork alone had taken three hours.

Rather than tell Liz that he'd ruined her Christmas Eve plans, James might have said that his Commanding Officer had it out for him and put him on for the holiday. Not a complete lie. Robert Wood wanted to strangle James most days of the week.

Still, coming clean with Liz reminded him of why he should never lie to his wife. As James was walking into the Ministry of Magic, he was still wiping Bat Bogeys off his face. Damn his mother for teaching Liz that spell!

He was about to step onto the lift when he ran into a familiar bloke.

Literally. One moment James wasn't watching what he was doing, and the next he was sprawled across the marble floor.

"Oi! Look where—" James's words trailed off when he saw the other man sat on his arse before the lift doors. It was his cousin, of course. There were so many of them that there was always a fifty-fifty chance that it was a Weasley. Really didn't matter what the occasion was.

This time, the offender was Lou. A whole head taller than James (the wanker), red-haired, and sporting glasses from hours spent bent over ancient texts in the Department of Mysteries.

James grinned at his cousin, offering him his favorite bit of sign language: the two fingered salute.

 _Bugger off, James._ Lou signed, but he laughed.

The cousins got to their feet. James brushing off his robes and Lou straightening his glasses.

 _Just coming on?_ Lou asked.

James sighed. _Yes. You're not leaving yet, are you?_

 _Going to pick up Amy. Tonight is Vic's last performance._

 _Who's watching Willie?_

Lou had married Amelia Harcourt practically the day they graduated from Hogwarts. Rumor had it that Amy's Muggle parents weren't too keen to have their daughter marry so young, but Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur were happy enough about it. That was years ago, and now the young couple had a one-year-old.

 _His name is William_ , Lou replied. _And he's at the Burrow for the night._

 _A whole night to yourselves? You can start on baby number two._ James smirked at his cousin.

There was a moment when James thought Lou would flip him off and be done with it, but Lou smirked back.

 _That will put me two ahead of you. What will Aunt Ginny say?_

James frowned. His mum and Hannah had baby fever. Every family dinner came with not-so-subtle hints that it was time Liz and James started a family. Frankly, it was something the two of them had talked about, but always in the context of _someday_. James was still busy proving that he deserved to be an Auror, and hadn't gotten in on his name. As for Liz, she was just a year past her apprenticeship as a potioneer. Besides, James still felt too much like a kid to be somebody's father.

Lou flipped James off, then waved as he headed out of the Ministry.

Checking his watch, James hurried onto the lift. Wood, who was a hard arse, liked his men to be at least fifteen minutes early for their shift. There was a reason that man wasn't married.

On his way into the Auror department, James ran into yet another relation. The harried-looking Teddy Lupin. He was dressed in civilian robes, and his hair was blue. Teddy never wore his hair blue when he was on shift, always keeping it his natural black, but according to Teddy, Vic loved his blue hair.

"I thought you had the day off," James said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I had to get something from Uncle Harry," Teddy replied, holding up a velvet box.

"What's this?"

Teddy eased open the box to reveal a double strand of pearls. "Do you think she'll like them?"

"Yeah, Vic and every other bird in the family. Aren't those supposed to come after the babies get here?"

"They'll look beautiful on her tonight," Teddy replied with that dopey grin he got any time he was talking about Vic. The ol' missus was second cello for the London Wizarding Philharmonic, but tonight was her last performance since she was pregnant with twins and the enormous instrument wouldn't fit between her legs much longer.

"How did you afford those?" James blurted out.

Aurors, especially those who'd been on the force as long as Teddy had, did pretty well. Not fancy pearl necklace well. James's bluntness earned an eye roll from the man he thought of as an older brother.

"They were my gran's," Teddy replied, snapping the box shut. "Apparently my grandpa bought them as a twentieth anniversary gift. She had Harry retrieve them from her vault for me."

"Teddy, I thought you'd left—Oh, James." Harry Potter walked out of his office, looked at his son, then at his battered gold watch. "Wood's going to have your bollocks if you don't hurry, then your mother will never get those grandkids she wants so badly."

"Happy Christmas, kid," Teddy said with a smirk.

5:45 p.m.

James stood outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes watching as a frazzled Mol gave her statement to Robert Wood. The Aurors had received an urgent call from the joke shop just minutes ago. Apparently there was a near duel over George's latest and greatest invention (thank Merlin that James had secured his back in September before they hit the shelves), but Mol had the situation in hand before a James, Wood, and some rookie kid could show up.

"Oi, cuz!" James called.

Mol shook her head, her normally fastidious red hair escaping her bun. The magenta and orange work robes of the Ol' Triple W really didn't do much for her complexion, but then they didn't look good on anybody. She walked over and poked him in that ticklish spot under his arm.

"Watch it! That's assaulting an Auror, that is!" James complained, sidling away from her bony fingers. Mol was always the worst tickler when they were growing up.

"I think I'll take my chances," she replied.

"Rough day?"

"You've no idea. This wasn't the first fight I broke up today." She pushed back her sleeve to reveal a nasty burn mark on her arm.

"You should maybe visit St. Mungo's," James said. "I think Freddie's on."

Mol shook her head. "This is what I get for selling my soul to George Weasley. That demon ran off to Greece with Aunt Angelina and left me the store for Christmas. Wanker. Besides, Bobby'll fix me up before he goes."

"Oooohhhh, _Bobby_ ," James mocked. "What's with you two anyways?"

"Nothing. Bobby and I grew up together—like cousins. He's my dad's godson for Merlin's sake! It would be like kissing you."

"Sure, because Vic and Teddy weren't raised like cousins or anything."

"Have you met Bobby Wood?" Mol scoffed, looking over her shoulder at James's burly C.O.

"Yes, and that's why I was hoping you'd start shagging him. Maybe then he'd get off my case."

Mol pinned him with a hard glare. "You wouldn't be the first person I hexed today, Potter."

7:30 p.m.

There still wasn't a snowflake in sight as James strolled into the Leaky Caldron for dinner. The pub was fairly busy with last minute shoppers on their way home, or folks fortifying themselves with a stiff drink before a family gathering. Neville was behind the bar, serving up warm Butterbeer and Firewhisky. Hannah was floating plates of mince pie out of the kitchen and onto trays. All three of their daughters were on the floor taking orders. As for James, he sauntered over to his usual table and sat down to wait.

The wait was long. James knew that Neville had seen him when he walked in, but that didn't mean his father-in-law would be inclined to mention that to any of the women of the family. However, James was pretty sure he was being purposely ignored. No patron of the Leaky Caldron sat this long unattended.

Finally, somebody approached James's table, but not the person he was expecting. His little sister plopped down in the chair opposite him in a sparkly dress and ten inches of makeup. She crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled at James.

"What's wrong, moppet?" James asked.

"What makes you think there's anything wrong?" Lily hissed.

James rubbed his face. Since they were little, Lily had been doing this. Something was bothering her, but for some reason James was just supposed to _know_ what it was. No clues, no hints, he was just supposed to divine it out of thin air.

"See this," James said motioning to his red Auror's robes. "This means I'm on duty. I've got a limited amount of time to eat and chitchat. Out with it, or you'll have to wait for Boxing Day."

Lily's lip wobbled. "It's Myron."

Of course it was, but James didn't say that aloud. Myron Davies had been messing his baby sister around since her seventh year. And Myron, he was James's age. According to Rose, the thing with Lily and Myron was mostly physical (not that James had wanted to know that), but Myron wasn't the type to be "mostly physical" with just one witch. Merlin's left testicle, James hated Myron Davies.

"Look, Lils," James said soothingly, placing his hand over hers on the table. "You are the most beautiful girl in the world—if you don't count Vic or Dom. Or Liz. Anyway, you're feisty and smart and you deserve so much better than Davies. Why do you do this to yourself?"

Big black tears were wreaking havoc with Lily's makeup. "When it's good, James—"

"It's just a show," James asserted. "He takes you out and showers you in gifts and makes you feel special. Then he cheats on you three days later. It's been the same for years, Lily, and it's not going to change."

Lily sniffed. "I know," she whispered.

"Then why do you put yourself through this?"

"I don't know anymore. I used to think I was in love with him, you know?"

"Why don't I go around his place when I get off. I'll hex his bollocks off, how would that be?"

Lily looked at him for a long moment, obviously trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Finally, she shook her head. "No, just leave him alone."

"Funny, that's the same thing I was going to say to you."

Just then, Lainey Longbottom showed up at James's elbow. She placed a plate of pork pie and a mug of pumpkin juice before him. The youngest Longbottom girl was regarding him with disdain.

"Where's Liz?" James asked.

"In a different section," Lainey replied shortly. "Mum said we weren't allowed to let you starve."

"What have you done now, Jamie?" Lily asked.

"He had to break his plans with Liz because he couldn't keep his big, fat mouth shut," Lainey answered.

"Oh, James," Lily groaned. "You are the worst."

"No," James shot back. "That's Davies."

Lily blushed, looking a bit cowed.

"Mum also sent me to fetch you, Lily," Lainey said, pulling James's little sister from her chair.

Lainey led Lily over to Hannah, who enveloped the youngest Potter child into a big hug. With Lily's head against her shoulder, Hannah wiped her face clean with a bar rag, all the while murmuring into the girl's ear. Hannah was good at the nurturing mother thing. Looking around, James spotted his wife carrying three tankards of ale above her head. She nodded to him, her mouth pinched up in the corners.

James decided to count that as a smile.

11:30 p.m.

"Happy Christmas, Freddie!"

Under a street lamp, in the back courtyard of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, a tall black man in the lime green robes of the medi-witch stood just outside the door, his hands folded around a cup of tea. When he saw James coming, Freddie grinned and shook his head. One thing about Freddie, he was always glad to see James.

"I see no bandages or IVs of potions," Freddie commented. "I reckon that means you aren't here for your own sake."

"I had to break up a pub fight on Knockturn Alley," James said. "A few of the brawlers came away the worst for wear."

"Well, I'm glad you're in one piece."

James stuffed his hands into his pockets, his breath hanging on the cold air. "I do wish it would snow. What's Christmas without snow?"

"What do I care? My parents are in Greece, my sister and her husband are in France for a friendly match with the Toulon team, and I'll be sleeping the day away."

"I reckon," James muttered.

Freddie glanced at him. "Cheer up, James, our real Christmas is still to come anyways."

James thought of the New Year's Christmas at the Burrow and grinned. That was absolutely his favorite day of the year. Gran had all that food, he'd get a new jumper, and there was almost always snow.

"So, you're alone for Christmas?" James asked. "You could come around our flat. I'm sure Liz wouldn't mind."

"Did I say I was alone?" Freddie asked with a sly smile.

"Oh, is a certain Healer Thomas on speaking terms with you again?"

"Parminder doesn't like me for my skill as an orator." He smirked. "Though she does appreciate my oral skills."

James chuckled. "She'd hex you if—"

"And that's why you'll keep your gob shut, Potter, or I might have to tell Liz that I know how she likes it in her old room at the Leaky during every family supper."

"Oi! Shut it!" James felt a blush rage across his face to rival his robes.

Freddie chuckled.

"Lizzie isn't speaking to me anyway."

"It won't last long," Freddie assured him. "It never does. If you were going to run her off, she'd be long gone by know."

"I'm a real idiot, you know? When am I going to grow up?" James kicked a pebble across the courtyard.

"Well, you _are_ an idiot," Freddie said. "But who says you're not grownup? You have a very grownup job—which you're good at, and don't let anybody tell you differently. You're a husband, which is about as grownup as it gets, and you pay bills. What more is there to this whole adult thing?"

"Kids."

"Has Liz's biological clock kicked in?"

"No. Our mums. Er, not their biological clocks. Just, they want grandkids."

"Do _you_ want kids?"

James looked up at the snowless sky. "Hell, I don't know. Is the timing right? Is there ever a right time? We'd have to buy a bigger flat, or maybe a house. Would Liz stay home with him, or-or her?"

"You could stay home with him." At the incredulous look on James's face, Freddie merely smirked. "Why not? Roxy's husband stays at home with their sprog so she can chuck a Quaffle for a living."

"See. This whole baby thing is much too complicated."

"Then do it on your time," Freddie advised. "You are James Potter, after all, when have you ever done something to please someone else? Unless that someone else was Lizzie, of course."

James chuckled, feeling better for having spoken to his cousin.

1:00 a.m.

James finished his paperwork, then added it to the pile on the filing clerk's desk. There were a few Aurors milling around the squad room, mostly those who were preparing to head home for the night, third shift already out in the field. It wasn't lost on James that he was one of the most senior men on this Christmas Eve shift—except one.

"Good work tonight," Wood said, as he deposited his own parchment into the 'In' bin.

"You've been working this job for what—more than a decade?" James asked.

"Aye, I was a year behind Lupin," Wood replied.

"Why do you still work these godforsaken holiday shifts? Did you piss somebody off? Is there something, or somebody, I should be avoiding to escape this fate?"

Wood eyed him for a moment before almost smiling. "Potter, I make up the schedules. The person I should be avoiding is myself."

"Then why—"

"Because I volunteer," Wood replied. "I don't have a wife, no little bairns to watch open gifts. I reckon I should work these shifts and let the family men be at home with their loved ones."

"Huh." James looked at his C.O. more closely. "So, what's with you and Mol?"

Wood chuckled, but shook his head. "Happy Christmas, Potter."

2 a.m.

"Did you wait up for me?"

James closed the door to their flat behind him, hanging his work robes on the coat rack by the door. Snuggled under a tartan blanket, Liz was curled up in the chair by the fire with a book. Going to kneel by her side, James wondered if he'd get lucky enough to discover she was naked under that blanket. Or better yet, in lingerie. That would make for a very happy Christmas.

"Do you forgive me for ruining our plans?" James asked.

"I always do," Liz replied dryly, but she ran her fingers through his hair.

James leaned his head against her middle. "I really am sorry, one of these times I'm going to be the man you deserve."

"What makes you think I would be with you all these years if you were anything less?" Liz demanded, swinging her legs around to sit up. "I'm stronger than that, and _you_ are better than you think."

"But I'm such an idiot!"

"It's part of your charm."

"You weren't planning to disagree with the 'idiot' part?"

"I don't exist to massage your ego, James."

James laid his head in Liz's lap. "I was afraid of that."

"Jamie," she said, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Remember Freddie's Halloween party."

"Not really. I think I'm still hung over."

Liz laughed shortly. "Yes, I think that's the problem. We were both properly pissed that night. Do you remember the, um, broom shed?"

James looked up, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Do I ever."

"Well." Liz took a deep breath. Her cheeks were faintly red, and she looked like she might pass out.

"Liz, are you okay? Should I call your mum? Or my mum?"

"No, no. It's just…I was planning for us to have this big romantic night so I could, um, break the news to you."

"Lizzie?"

"I'm pregnant."

"With a baby?"

"There's an off chance that it's a Mandrake, but more than likely it's a baby."

James sat back on his hunches. "Do-do you suppose one of our mothers has something to do with it?"

"I don't know what Harry told you about how babies are made, James, but generally it takes one man and one woman, and their mothers aren't involved."

"No. I mean—never mind!"

They stared at one another for a moment. James's mind was so perfectly blank that he couldn't have rubbed two thoughts together. He reckoned this ended the debate of whether or not he was grownup enough to be a father. It was rather a case of ready or not, wasn't it?'

"Are-are you angry about it?" Liz whispered.

"What?" James stood, scooped Liz into his arms and sat on the chair with her in his lap. "I'm stunned. I'm a bit worried. Remember all those afternoons we'd play house as kids? And I'd be your husband and we'd have a score of babies."

"Those are some of my happiest memories," Liz said quietly, resting her hand on his chest.

"Mine, too. So let's do it for real."

Liz picked up her wand from the side table, pointing it straight up and twirling it around. Light, shimmering snowflakes danced through the air, landing on their cheeks and noses. The snowflakes weren't cold, just fluffy as they piled up around the chair.

"What's this?" James asked.

"It's Christmas. There should be snow on Christmas."

"I love you, Mrs. Potter."

* * *

Merry Christmas!


End file.
